when winter ends, spring begins
by purinsesu-sereniti
Summary: au When Aegon "Jon Snow" Targaryen assumes his rightful place on the Iron Throne, he is immediately drawn into the unfamiliar world of court and politics. His throne can only be safe when he has an heir of his own, one he must get through marriage to a woman of a powerful house. But the woman who proves his best choice he once called sister. A story of love, family, and war.
1. Chapter 1

"Marriage?"

The word fell off his tongue, foreign and unfamiliar to his vocals. "It only makes sense, your grace," the little man beside his throne said with a short bow, his dark eyes flickering to meet his own. "It is important to align yourself with those you can trust. We can trust so few people even in this new world, so your choices are slim I'm afraid." His attempt at wit brought a wane smile to the new king's lips and his adviser let out a little chuckle. "I do have some suggestions, if it pleases your grace."

Jon (birth name or not, Aegon would never be his name) shrugged, shifting upon the throne he'd still yet to grow used to. He supposed it would take longer than a few months. A few months... It was hard to believe all that had happened these last several months, since his very first encounter with Daenerys back in Dragonstone. Since they had stumbled about, falling in love as a great and terrible war loomed over their heads. Jon had never expected to fall in love with the dragon queen, but, it had happened and there was no taking it back.

Well, not really.

In a strange twist of fate, Jaime Lannister took up arms against his sister, his twin, his lover, and joined sides with Daenerys back then. Of course, it had only happened after she nearly had him killed, but he supposed it didn't matter much how they acquired his allegiance. But then things began to unravel at an unusual pace, as their war upon the White Walkers took them back north, back home. Their arrival there revealed to him- and thus to Daenerys- of his true parentage. And in an even stranger twist of fate, the queen he'd pledged to serve no longer had the strongest claim to the Iron Throne. It was him. Of all people in the entire world, he was the one with the strongest, truest claim. His mother and father had been in love- he was not the child of a kidnapping and a rape, but of true love. Neither of his parents had lived long enough to be a part of his life- but his uncle, the man he'd called father all his life- had taken him in at the urging of his dying sister. Ned Stark had never been able to deny his sister anything, but of all things he'd never deny her only child. And so, he'd been raised along with the other Stark children, never told the truth until that fateful day he'd riden back through the gates of Winterfell.

And that was things began to spiral out of total control.

Jon could still remember that night, while he slept alone in his bed, she crept inside with a knife in her pocket. He remembered waking to the cold touch of steel to his throat, could remember the tremble to her whisper as the words passed her lips "There can't be two heirs." She had blood on her hands, stained down the whole front of her gown, and Jon had felt the tremor of fear rush through him. Just who had she killed already? And then, just as the blade pressed hard into his throat, she was falling back. Jon had not seen it coming, had not recalled even hearing the whistling of the blade as it flew through the air, but when Daenerys slumped to the ground, he'd felt relief. Behind her, clutching the bloody sword in his hands had been Tyrion, who had looked as shocked as Jon had felt.

Tyrion had saved his life; he had suspected her of such a crime the moment they had all heard the same news- that Jon was not a Stark bastard at all, but the true born son of Rhaegar Targaryen, and thus the true heir to the throne. After all Daenerys had worked for, there would have been no chance she'd give it up, and no chance she'd have let anyone live that knew the truth too. She would have killed the whole house, if given the chance. The blood down her front had been a guard, gravely injured in his grapple with the mother of dragons, that same fight that woke him from his own slumber.

And that, well that was what led them to where they were right then and there. With him, Jon Snow, on the Iron Throne, with Tyrion his Hand to the King. Jaime continued to serve as commander to the army, a newly gained ally who continued to prove his worth. Cersei was dead of course, dead from childbirth just the month before, her child gone with her. Jaime spoke not of his lost child, nor his lost lover, and Jon preferred it that way. His own heart was still healing, the feeling of being betrayed still all too fresh in his mind. To think he had put his trust into a woman (again) and been betrayed (again). He had sworn off women that night, but Tyrion laughed at him now that he brought it up again. "A King cannot swear of marriage." The dwarf said as he took a single step closer to the throne. "The succession is of utmost importance. Now that you have the throne, you must have a child or two who can take over after you."

"It would seem marriage is the least likely way I can form a succession. Women seem to rather kill me than love me." This brought another chuckle from Tyrion's lips and Jon couldn't help but to smirk himself. "But, you said you had suggestions, so suggest away."

"Lyanna Mormont."

Jon pulled a face, shaking his head. "Never. She's a child." He retorted, waving his hand impatiently. "It matters not what political ties she brings, there's absolutely no way in hell-" He stopped speaking when he caught Tyrion's eye, who arched a brow at the young man's outburst.

"Young but with a powerful alliance, she was the first to name you King in the North, and the first to support you in naming Sansa as Queen of the North." Jon never would have lived with himself if he'd taken the North from the Starks, from his family. In his first act after assuming the throne, he'd crowned his "sister" in her own right as ruler of the North, the eldest surviving child of Eddard and Catelyn Stark. Jon reminded himself then that though they had been raised as such, Sansa was far from being his sister. In truth, she was only his cousin, connected by her father and his mother. Thinking about her hurt, now that he thought about it, and Jon realized just how much he missed her.

"She would be first to have my head the moment I pissed her off," Jon replied, thinking back to the first time he'd met little Lyanna Mormont. Though she was a child, she was fearless, brutal in her commanding of her men and her House, loyal as any grown man ever could be. Tyrion shrugged, but couldn't blame Jon. Stranger marriages had taken place before and Kings could not marry for love, unless they were lucky, and Tyrion wasn't so sure this King ever would be lucky in love. Two women had already tried to take his life, so what surprise would there be if a third or even fourth tried?

"There is another, perhaps a better match than any of the others... It's just..." Tyrion had thought of this match from the very beginning- from the moment he had learned the whole truth. From the moment Jon's true origins had been named and he'd taken to the throne, Tyrion had thought about this match. "Something tells me you may like this one less than the Mormont girl." When Jon eyed him, but did not speak, Tyrion pressed on. "The Queen in the North would be a highly advantageous marriage."

For a moment, the world around him stopped- marry... Sansa? Marry a girl who was as good as his sister? A girl he'd grown up beside, a girl he'd known from the moment of her birth? "Sansa? You want me to marry Sansa?"

"Surely you understand the benefits of such a match," Tyrion went on, ignoring the young king's outburst, stepping around to the other side of his throne. "And at least you would not have to marry a stranger... That is not a luxury most Kings know." Jon's features softened, though with what Tyrion could not say- perhaps for the fondness he felt for the young Sansa Stark, a fondness so clearly witnessed with his own two eyes some months ago. "And with her comes an alliance with the Northern lords forevermore."

Though still new to politics, even Jon could see the truth behind Tyrion's words. Though accepted as the new King, Jon knew he still yet had to secure himself in his position. He needed allies, more than the ones he currently had. He needed powerful allies that he could rally in times of need, men he could count on no matter the situation. And what better ally could he get than the Lords of the North? The men that had stood beside Ned Stark, men that had stood beside Robb Stark, and men that had stood beside him. The Lords that had given him the men and the arms he needed to take back Winterfell from the Boltons. The Lords that had proclaimed him King of the North. Those were the allies he needed. And he supposed there would be no disapproval in his marriage to Sansa, should it be brought up... But the thought of marrying Sansa? It felt weird, but almost... Right. He shook his head, reminding himself again that he'd called her sister all his life, that nothing could change the relationship they'd established as siblings.

And yet...

Things were always changing, weren't they? Why should this be any different, he told himself as he drummed his fingers atop his thighs. "I suppose you are right, my lord, however..." He turned to face his Hand, pinning him with his dark-eyed gaze. "It cannot move forward without much consideration. Much time and planning. I will not act so hastily, not in this first year of my reign. Marriage can wait." Tyrion sighed, but recognized defeat, and so he stepped back to bow, before Jon continued to speak. "But you may invite Sansa here, along with all of my family. Ask them to come and we shall see what these final few months of my first year as King bring."

Tyrion gave one single nod, before he backed away, rushing off to send the raven to Winterfell, to bring together the Stark family one more time. This time, beneath the roof of their new king, Jon Snow.


	2. Chapter 2

When the raven arrived, Sansa was surprised.

Not that a letter had come, but rather due to who had sent it. The letter was not written in Jon's own hand, but rather Tyrion's, and it was even signed from Tyrion. Sansa read the letter twice over before she looked across the room at Arya, who had gained what Sansa was certain would be her last inch these last few months. "Well, who's it from?" Her younger, impatient sister demanded after several beats of silence. "Is it from Jon?" Though she tried to hide it, Arya loved Jon best of all their siblings...

Siblings.

Jon wasn't her brother, Sansa reminded herself for the millionth time that day alone as she sighed, unfolding the parchment in her hands. "It's from Jon, I suppose. But Tyrion has written it." Arya's face cracked with a beaming smile and she jumped up from her seat to approach her older sister. "He writes for us to come and stay with him awhile." For a moment, Sansa felt the world sway around her. To return to that place... To a place she had suffered for what had felt like an eternity. Where she'd been beaten, tortured, and abused by a mad boy king and his followers. To a place where her friends had been few and her family fewer. She had been alone, back then at King's Landing. But, she told herself, this time it would be Jon there. Cersei was gone, Joffrey was long gone, and there was nothing but ghosts left to haunt her.

"Oh, say we will go Sansa!" Arya's voice brought her back and Sansa focused her blue eyes upon her little sister's shining features. "I have missed Jon these few months." They had last seen Jon at her own crowning three months before, but it seemed like lifetimes ago. "I know you have too! Besides, winter is ending, surely we can travel with ease again." Arya was right, winter was coming to an end, and travel certainly would be easy.

"Of course we shall go," Sansa said with a smile, her need to have her broken family together again outweighing her disgust with Kings Landing. Her mind turned back to those early days here in Winterfell, when Jon first returned home with the Queen he'd bowed to, Daenerys, at his side. Sansa recalled the flicker of jealousy that had rushed through her upon meeting the beautiful, silver-haired Targaryen. But that was then, and this was now. Daenerys was no longer queen, no longer even among them in society. No, she had been locked away, injured that night she had tried to kill Jon, but far from dead. Though there had been those to rally for her death, Jon had locked her away as punishment. There was no way he could go through with killing her, his feelings for her besides the point. There was just no way he could kill the only other member of his blood line.

They were the last of the Targaryen's, after all.

"Send word to Brienne, she will arrange everything." Sansa went on, turning back to face Arya, pushing away all the thoughts in her mind. "We will leave as soon as possible."

[ x x x ]

King's Landing was exactly as she remembered it.

Its peaks, its towers, its corridors. Everything about it was the same as she remembered, even so many years later. Her feet led her down the familiar path towards the Red Keep, with Davos ahead of her and the others. Arya was close behind her, quiet as she took in the sights around her- sights she too could remember as well as yesterday. Neither sister spoke as they walked, though Sansa did slip her hand into Arya's as they went through the double doors, where ahead of them on his throne sat Jon.

Sir Davos stepped aside, allowing the Stark sisters to pass him by, instead allowing them to lead the way to the throne. Jon's court was still yet small, though Sansa had a hunch it'd never be the size it had once been, not that Jon would mind. But there were still Lords of the land there and she knew better than anyone what it meant to put on a good first impression. And though Arya had teased her over it, Sansa had her best gown prepared for this event, her first meeting with Jon not as siblings, but as rulers in their own rights. "Your grace," Sansa said when they had approached the dais, her smile small but true as she locked eyes with the handsome young King.

"Your grace," Jon parroted back at her with a sheepish grin, their eyes meeting a moment longer, until he then turned to Arya. Sansa could feel her younger sister trembling with excitement; nothing could revert Arya to her childlike ways, nothing except for Jon. "I hope travel was easy. Winter is nearing its end, after all." Sansa could not help but to chuckle, Jon's words a mirror to those Arya had said to her but a few weeks before.

"Our trip was easy, thank you," Sansa replied, straightening her back as she stood there before the Iron Throne, well aware of every pair of eyes upon her. For a single moment, she was fourteen again, and it was not Jon on the throne but Joffrey. In that instance, a crossbow was aimed at her chest while a man three times her size cut her gown into pieces before all of court. She felt the touch of a hand against her own and realized she'd lapsed into silence, trapped within the memory triggered by merely standing in that very room. "But perhaps I am tired," she admitted with a smile, hoping no one else noticed her slip into the past. However, both Jon and Tyrion were staring at her, and she knew both men were thinking exactly as she was. One of those men had been the one to rescue her from that moment, the first true kindness any of the Lannister's had ever shown her.

"You may retire to your rooms, I trust you'll both wish to rest and eat." Jon said, his concern for the young woman before him evident, but knew better than to press such a subject in public. Besides, if he waited any longer to speak privately with Arya, she'd surely burst. And so he dismissed the two girls, the only family he had left, and followed after them to finally take them both into his arms again.

[ x x x ]

 _Knock, knock_

"Come in," Sansa called, turning in her chair as Jon came into the room, alone and unannounced by even a guard. "Jon!" She jumped to her feet, racing across the room to meet him, throwing her arms around him as he swept her off her feet. "I've missed you," she admitted as he set her down on her feet, steadying her with two warm hands on her hips. "You said we'd not be apart this long." She went on, her voice adopting a more accusatory tone, though her lips were smiling. "I've had to practically lock Arya in her chamber, she's been wanting to come since the moment you last left Winterfell."

Jon could not help but to admire Sansa, drinking in the sight of her face as if he'd not seen her in years. She had changed, he noted, holding herself a bit taller, a bit stronger. She was beginning to let go the abuse she'd suffered, she was beginning to heal. He supposed she'd begun the journey to healing the moment Arya slit Lord Baelish's throat, the man partly (if not mostly) responsible for all she had suffered. For all their family had suffered. Seeing her standing there with a radiant smile brought warmth to him, for he could still yet recall the stiffness of her smile only a few months before. "I know and I'm sorry Sansa, I've been a bit busy you know..." Sansa gave a chuckle, stepping away from him to return to the chair she'd been sitting in, gesturing him to follow after her. Jon felt a rush of familiarity, a rush of nostalgia- how long had it been since someone had directed him? For months now he'd tried to adjust to a life where he was not the bottom rung, but rather the top one. It was strange and something he wasn't sure he'd ever adjust to. But there with Sansa, who always took charge of every situation, had him on the move with only a simple gesture. Jon chuckled at the memory of them as children, when even at two years old Sansa had been an unstoppable force. It felt good to know that part of her was returning.

"I've missed you too," he said as he took to the other chair across from her, settling in as if they were back at Winterfell. "More than you know." The words slipped from his lips and he turned away, the admission a little unlike him... But he had missed her. He'd missed Arya as well and of course had told her as such when he'd gone to her chamber too. "You write so often I can't even ask you to tell me how everything is going." It was Sansa's turn to blush and turn away, knowing it was true; she sent at least one raven a week, if not more. Though, Jon replied swiftly and to every single letter she sent.

"Then you tell me," Sansa said, leaning forward in her chair, staring across at him. "What prompted you to invite us so suddenly? What's happening now?"

Caught off guard by her questions, Jon blinked, suddenly very aware of her eyes upon him. Not ready to admit the truth behind inviting her- the prospect of their marriage- Jon grinned and ran a hand through his ever unruly hair. "Can't a man just invite his family to stay awhile?" When Sansa gave a little laugh, he then reached into his pocket, remembering then he'd had something to give her. "Here, it's for you." He handed the little package over to her, watching as her eyes widened, surprise taking root. "Open it."

Sansa untied the package, revealing beneath the paper a small box. Inside, nestled against a pool of silk, was a silver pendant. Engraved upon it was the symbol of House Stark, a direwolf. "Oh..." She murmured softly, the pad of her finger tracing the outline. "It's lovely." She pulled it out of the box, revealing a long silver chain it was attached to, which she could hang around her neck. "Thank you." When she looked back up at him, her eyes were shining, her mouth trembling ever so slightly as she smiled.

"Let me..." Jon rose up, reaching out to take the necklace from her hands, and went to stand behind her chair. "Your hair..." He said softly, watching silently as she shifted her mane of red hair across a shoulder, giving him access to clasp the necklace around her neck. As he did, his fingers brushed against the soft skin of her neck, sending chills racing the length of his spine. He'd never known how soft her skin was there, for he'd never touched but her hand or cheek before. He stepped back around to inspect the way the silver pendant sat perfectly against her collarbone, hyper aware of how brilliantly her eyes shined in the firelight.

"Thank you..." She murmured again, reaching up her hand to tenderly touch the pendant, her lips curving with a smile. "I'll treasure it." She promised with a nod, to which Jon smiled back at her, before a knock sounded on the door, causing both of them to jump. "Come in." Sansa called, turning towards the door as one of Jon's stewards entered.

"Dinner, your graces," he said before bowing and exiting, leaving the two of them alone once more.

"Come on then, you heard the man." Jon said with a chuckle, reaching out a hand for her to take. If they both noticed the rush of electricity that rushed through their fingertips, than neither one of them made mention of it. Instead, Sansa put her hand onto his elbow, and allowed him to steer her from the room and down the hall towards the hall where they would have their first meal together in months.


	3. Chapter 3

She was lost.

Her feet had forgotten this particular path, leading her down a long narrow corridor that felt endless. Inside her chest, her heartbeat quickened, her breath catching in her throat as she turned yet another corner. _Where am I,_ she wondered to herself, trying to remind herself to remain calm, that having a melt down wouldn't get her unlost after all. But, despite that, she still felt herself beginning to sink further into panic mode.

Sansa should have known better than to go wandering around as she was- but, she had been bored and decided it was time to face King's Landing. She was there to stay for some time and so it was important to face the demons she'd fought here and rise against them. And what better way to do that then to walk the halls, to walk the path she'd walked as a frightened child. Back then... Things had been truly terrifying. In the wake of her father's execution (something she still felt guilt over), the abuse by Joffrey had increased tenfold. To the day he'd forced her to stare upon her father's rotting head, or the time he had her clothing slashed to pieces before all of the court... To everything inbetween. All of those moments had happened within these walls and she told herself she simply had to face them.

But perhaps facing them alone had been his mistake.

Now, lost and near hysterics, Sansa stumbled around another corner, tears streaking her cheeks. Without looking where she was going, she bumped into someone coming around the corner, a maid to her ultimate surprise. "Your grace!" The surprised maid cried, shocked by the Northern queen's appearance so far out in the castle. That was when she noticed the young queen's demeanor- pale, frightened, and in tears. "Your grace, are you alright?" The maid asked softly and that was when the young queen snapped back to face her, blue eyes wide in her frightened features. "Get the King." The maid murmured to a man slinking down the hall, eyes downcast as if shamed by something. In any other moment Sansa would have realized just what she had stumbled in upon, but the discovery of the two was lost on her. "Your grace..."

By the time Jon arrived, was no longer crying, though she was shaking when he pulled her into his arms. "What were you doing?" He asked, stepping back to hold her at arm's length, hands on her shoulders. Inspecting her closely, her could see the tear tracks upon her pale cheeks, could see the fear reflected in the depths of her blue eyes. "It's alright now," he murmured, slipping an arm around her shoulders, steering her away from the gathering crowd of courtiers and servants. "I will assist the Queen of the North back to her rooms." Jon called over his shoulder, stopping all others from following after the pair. Palace life could resume, though the Northern queen's hysteria would be the talk of the castle for a few days to come.

Though Jon had said he'd return her to her rooms, that was not the way he took her. Instead, he drew her down another corridor, one that felt more familiar to her. One she knew. Ones much closer than her own. "In with you," Jon said softly as he held open the outermost door to his own chambers, letting her slip past his guard without a single word. He closed the door behind him and gently pushed her into a chair before the fire he'd left roaring in the fireplace. Draped across the other chair was the fur cloak Sansa had made with her own two hands but a few months before. "Sit," he encouraged her as she took to the opposite chair, still and silent. Jon stepped up to a small table, pouring from a jug two glasses of ale, one of which he handed to her, the other belonging to himself. "Drink." He commanded, knowing a strong sip of drink would calm her nerves. When she'd taken one long sip, pulling a face as she always did, Jon felt a tremor of relief. "Now tell me what has you so spooked, Sansa."

Where did she start?

Sansa looked back at Jon, arching a brow as a sigh escaped her lips. "I got lost is all," she said quietly, turning away from him to instead stare down at the cup in her hands. How did she tell him that the past still yet haunted her? That despite how hard she tried, some thing she just could not forget? Every punishment, every beating, every beratement issued to her within Kings Landing was as fresh in her mind as if they'd happened the day before. When she dared to look back at Jon, she could tell he did not believe her. Not that she blamed him- she had never been a very good liar. "I thought I could face this place, I thought I was past what happened to me here." She whispered, tears filling her eyes once again, her cheeks red hot with shame. "Apparently not." She swiped angrily at her tears, hating herself for every single one gathered on her lashes.

Jon could not believe he'd been so stupid.

How could he not have realized what bringing Sansa back to Kings Landing would have done to her? The atrocities she suffered here... The abuse she suffered by the Lannisters... Of course it was painful for her. Without warning, Jon was kneeling beside her, taking her hand into his own. "Sansa, forgive me... When I invited you here, I did not think..." He could not believe he'd brought her here without thinking about her own feelings. He had only thought of his own selfish need to be with his family... And of course Tyrion's mention of marriage. He had not thought about what being back in King's Landing would be like for Sansa. "You can leave at once, if it will make you happy..." The idea of Sansa leaving left him feeling surprisingly empty, but he had to think about what was best for her, not him.

When Jon knelt down beside her, taking her hand into his own, Sansa felt a spark of _something_. "Jon..." Her lips spoke the familiar vocals of his name, the name she would always call him by, and felt a smile tugging on her lips. "I'm not leaving." She said stubbornly, looking him in the eye as she slipped her other hand over his. "I had to face this place someday." She went on quietly, feeling his hand squeezing her own. "I just didn't think it'd be so hard, not this long after." But it was, it was hard. Everywhere she went was a reminder of Joffrey's abuse, of Cersei's manipulation, of the courts inability to do anything but watch everything unfold. "But I had to face what happened to me here, I had to." She went on, giving her head a little nod almost as if she was speaking more to herself rather than to him.

He was surprised by her strength, despite all that had happened this day. She had grown so much since their days as childhood, from a spoiled, pampered daughter of a Lord. Her time in Kings Landing had changed her and her time with the Boltons had almost destroyed her. This was her trying to find her footing in this new world where all of her absusers were dead and she was left to find her way. "I'm proud of you," he whispered as he rose up enough to brush a kiss to her temple while a shiver raced down his spine. Then he stood fully, making the move to return to his chair when Sansa caught his hand with her own, keeping him there. He turned back to look down at her, this girl he'd once called sister, this girl he loved more than nearly anyone else, and felt something stirring within himself. How had he never noticed how beautiful she really was? Her smile lit up her face, a stronger smile than he'd seen in months, one that reminded him of their childhood days in Winterfell. That was all he'd longed to see.

"Thank you, Jon," she said softly, her words and her touch bringing a smile to Jon's face as he looked down at her from above. It was only then that she let go of his hand, well aware of the chill left behind when his hand was no longer in her own. She had at first thought she could never face Kings Landing again, but maybe... Just maybe with Jon there to guide her along, she'd find her way.

[ x x x ]

"A ball?"

Sansa turned to look at Arya, who had come into her chambers only a few minutes before while Sansa wrote a letter to Bran, who was the Stark left behind in Winterfell. "Yes, _to promote peace among Westeros,"_ Arya parroted back the string of words Tyrion had said. "Sounds boring. And I won't be wearing a dress."

A flicker of excitement raced through Sansa, she could not help it- it had been years since she'd attended any sort of fancy engagement and felt excitement. She had always loved such things as a child and had always had high hopes of the ones she'd attend in Kings Landing back then. Ah, such childish dreams she'd had back then. Dreams of being Joffrey's queen and living a lavish lifestyle full of beautiful dresses and extravegent events. She'd been young and stupid back then, of course, but still there was a part of her that would always love dressing up. Sansa gave a chuckle at Arya's displeasure of the news of a ball, but she turned to her younger sister and gave her a smile. "Nobody will force you into a dress, Arya." She promised, knowing Arya well enough to know she'd disappear the night of the ball anyways. "But it's not a bad idea to do such a thing. It'll have been Tyrion's idea, of course." The smallest Lannister was no doubt a smart man- he knew the wiles and ways of men of all kinds, the rich, the poor, the polictically inclined, and the ones with no wits about them. He'd spent time with men of all backgrounds and creeds, had grown up in a family made of schemers and manipulators. He knew it all. And Sansa understood him, understood his motives. Hosting a ball, the first one since the great war ended, would be the best way to promote the newly achieved peace of Westeros. Everyone would be invited and it would be proof that the once severed nation could finally come together again.

The look Arya shot at her was one of _if you say so,_ but then she dropped down onto her bed, running her hands over the soft coverlet. "This was..." Arya spoke softly, realizing then just what blanket this was. Sansa turned back to her sister and smiled, nodding her head to confirm just what Arya was thinking. Years before, when their mother had still been trying to convince Arya to be a lady, she had tried to teach her to sew. The first thing Arya had made (albeit, not very well) was a fur lined blanket for her birthday. "I can't believe you still have this." Arya admitted with a small laugh, turning back to look at Sansa. "And I can't believe its held up all these years."

At her words, Sansa gave a laugh of her own, rising up from her desk to sweep across the room and sit down beside Arya. "I had to fix it a time or two," she confessed, running her own hand over the blanket too. "But I could never let it go." Silence fell and after a moment, she felt Arya's head resting against her shoulder, and Sansa tilted her head to rest against Arya's. The only Stark sisters born and they had made it through everything to come out alive on the other side. Everything that had transpired since the day Arya had returned to Winterfell had only brought them closer.

When the summons for dinner came that night, neither Stark sister appeared, sending Jon into a frenzy. He pushed past his attendants, past Tyrion who tried to calm him, and made his way down the halls. Arya's room was empty when he went inside it and he felt his stomach turning. Where were they? He made his way further down the corridor, pushing open the door to Sansa's rooms and letting himself inside. He opened his mouth to speak but that was when his eyes fell upon the bed, finding the sisters there upon it.

Calm now, Jon let out the breath he'd been holding and ran a hand through his unkempt hair. Both Sansa and Arya were fast asleep there in Sansa's bed, both of them turned onto their sides facing the other wall. Jon tiptoed across the room to sit gingerly on the edge of the bed, careful as to not wake either sleeping girl, and fondly smiled as he looked upon them. As young children, they had often slept together like this, but as they'd grown... They'd grown apart. But now, that was anything but the case. Jon could not help himself from reaching out, to gently brush a stray lock of hair from Sansa's forehead, realizing then just how soft her hair truly was. Beside her, Arya shifted, forcing him to draw his hand back though the sleeping girl did not wake. Jon felt the tender feeling of affection for both these girls rising up within him and he realized he could have remained there watching them sleep a little while longer. But, he rose up from the bed and slipped out the door, leaving both girls there to sleep as long as they needed.

They both deserved it, more than anything.


	4. Chapter 4

Everything was beautiful.

Sansa was not surprised though, Tyrion knew what he was doing in terms of throwing a party or two. His plans for the ball had turned out lovely- with decor of gold strewn across the whole palace. Everything was bright and everything seemed to shine this night, the first ball thrown by the new King of the Iron Throne. Everything had to go perfectly, so she supposed that was why Tyrion threw his whole self into planning every last detail. He'd had help, of course, asking she herself as well as many others their opinions and their ideas, and Sansa was pleased to see a few of hers had made it into the final project.

Adjusting the mask upon her face, Sansa glanced around the room, but could pick no one out from the crowd. That was the point of a masquerade ball, after all. Wondering where Jon was, Sansa slipped into the crowd, ever intent on having a good time that night.

He had watched her come in.

How could he not, when she looked the way she did? Though a mask hid her features, there was no denying it was Sansa. Her gown was new, custom made for her for this very event; it was of the softest blue, silver nearly, and Jon was surprised at how well it hugged her lithe frame. Pushing away such thoughts, Jon made his own way into the crowd, dark eyes searching until he found her. "My lady," he spoke as he approached her, taking her hand and pressing a kiss to her knuckles. Sansa gave a laugh, her blue eyes dancing behind her mask, recognizing him at once. "You look beautiful."

"My lord," she replied as Jon took her hand, giggling as they fell into roles that were no longer theirs. "Thank you," she blushed to the roots of her fiery hair as a shiver raced the length of her spine. Just why did hearing Jon say such a thing leave her so breathless?

"May I have this dance?" He asked, all chivalrous knight, and Sansa gave a quick nod. Jon took her by the hand and led her out onto the dance floor, where of course all eyes quickly fell upon them. They took up the stance, one of his hands on her hip, the other holding lightly to hers as the music began. "I believe the last time we danced like this, I stepped on your toes," Jon's words brought another laugh from her pink lips, thrusting both of them into the memory of their childhood. To back to a time when life had been easy, when life had been simple.

"I remember that," she could recall it as easily as if it had only been yesterday. Back to the day her mother had assembled every Stark child into the great hall of Winterfell, to begin their dance lessons, claiming it was of utmost importance to learn. Of course, Arya and Bran had disappeared ten minutes into the lesson, but she and Jon, along with Robb, had participated in every lesson given by Catelyn Stark. Together they had learned to move gracefully (well, in Sansa's case at least) and would be far from an embarrassment when it came time to show off their skills. "You're doing much better this time," she teased, honestly surprised by the natural talent Jon seemed to display at dancing. "Who would think a swordsman would be so elegant on his feet."

It was Jon's turn to laugh, watching from behind his mask as her eyes brightened with mirth. "There's not much difference between being a master swordsman or dancer," he replied, amused by the surprised look that fell into place upon her face. He spun her out and then back in, the warmth of her body against his making him feel things he knew he shouldn't have felt. "One must be quick and aware of his partner's every move, he must be graceful and careful too, if he wishes to come out unharmed." He winked and Sansa was giggling all over again, thinking back to her poor, sore feet those days when they were only children learning. She supposed Jon was right.

The song ended and for a long moment, neither of them could let the other one go. Jon felt her squeeze his hand a bit more tightly and he slipped his hand from her hip to the small of her back, drawing her ever closer to his body. Neither of them spoke, standing there in the center of the dance floor, unaware of any of the other courtiers in the room with them. But then there came a single little cough and they sprang apart, both turning to find Ser Davos there, offering his arm to the Northern queen. Sansa gave Jon a quick smile and then was gone, disappearing into the crowd as another dance was struck up. Jon found himself feeling empty and cold without Sansa on his arm and so he retreated to his throne, seating himself upon it and calling for a goblet of wine.

When the wine was in his hand, he tipped it back, drowning the cup in one swallow, before calling for another. "Your grace." Tyrion appeared at his side, his eyes darting from Jon to out on the dance floor, where Sansa was paired off with Ser Davos, who was laughing aloud at something the Northern queen must have said. "You two look good together, you know." Tyrion said, pouring the king another glass of wine. "She seems to be adjusting, there's been no more incidents such as the one that first week of her arrival..." He meant of course her breakdown in the corridors. "She seems happy."

As Jon settled his gaze upon her, out there among the court, he could only nod. She did seem happy, he noted, happier than he had seen in her in months. She glowed as only a healthy, happy woman could, and Jon was glad to see it. "Aye," he replied when he drowned his second glass of wine, still unable to shake the feeling of her hand in his. "She had to face this place someday," he said, speaking the very same words Sansa had spoken to him that day a few weeks before.

"Indeed she did," Tyrion replied, pouring a third glass of wine for Jon, as well as one for himself. "She is much stronger than she thinks she is, in truth." Tyrion could still recall her from those early days, when she had been nothing more than a pawn in his sister's game. When she had been a victim to his evil nephew and the ever silent court. Where she had no one to stand up for her, where she was truly and utterly alone. He felt for her back then, as he felt for her now, the ever suffering daughter of the late Ned Stark. But, as he had thought back then, she'd been the one to survive them all. She had lived through Kings Landing and she had lived through the Boltons. If she had survived the atrocities against her in both of those places, then truly there was nothing she could not survive. Tyrion opened his mouth, tempted to bring up the subject of marriage, but thought better of it. Now was not the moment, he decided.

Tonight was a night for anything but the politics of court.

[ x x x ]

He was drunk.

Jon knew he should have known better- Tyrion was the last person who would cut him off, being the drinker he was himself- and so by the time the night ended, he was well past his limit. When he'd stumbled into his rooms, past his guards, he'd had nothing on his mind but falling into bed to sleep until he could sleep no more. He stripped from his fancy clothes- clothes he was certain he'd never adjust to wearing- and left them in a pile on the floor beside his bed. Changing into an old, soft pair of breeches, he climbed into his bed and began to settle himself into it when he heard it.

Knock, knock

Grumbling at himself over who would dare to disturb him, he swung his legs back over the edge of the bed just as the guard peeked his head inside. "My apologies, your grace, but the Northern queen is here." Sansa? Worry overcame his anger and he gestured for the guard to let her in. Just what was she doing here?

Oh, what was she doing?

Sansa couldn't believe she had found the courage to slip away and stand before the double doors that led to Jon's chambers. She blamed it on all that blasted wine she'd had during the course of the night. Though the guards looked unhappy about having to disturb their king, they did as they were bid, one of them knocking and then peeking into the room. "You may enter," the guard said as he pulled his head back out, holding the door open for her to cross the threshold. And then the door swung closed behind her, leaving her and Jon there in the room, staring at one another. He had discarded all of his clothes aside from a pair of breeches so old Sansa swore her own mother must have sewed the stitches and she could not help but to smile. But then her eyes traveled across his bare chest, taking in the sight of the old scar there, the one that was proof of his comrades treachery.

"Sansa..." He could hardly breathe, taking in the sight of her there before him. She was still dressed in her lovely silvery blue gown, though her hair was unbound around her shoulders. Hundreds of thoughts were racing through his mind, but each and every one of those thoughts led back to one thing: her. Crossing the room in three strides, Jon did the only thing that made any sense to his drunken mind, he took her into his arms and held on tight. She buried her face into the crook of his shoulder, her arms winding around him just as his tightened their grip on her waist. When he pulled back, he found himself to be staring into her blue eyes, finding solace in their calm depths. Suddenly, everything began to make sense, and the flicker of her smile was all he needed to see. Without a word, he leaned down, brushing his mouth against hers. She reacted at once, yielding to his kiss, prompting him to deepen the kiss, one of his hands sliding up to tangle in her hair.

He was kissing her- Sansa could not believe it. And what was more, she was kissing him back! Nothing had, she realized then, ever felt more right than that moment did. It was as if the whole world began to make sense again. Jon's hands were gentle upon her, one hand still in her hair while the other was at the small of her back, drawing her ever closer to him. Though a once bedded wife, Sansa was anything but experienced in things such as this, but still... Every movement, every action felt natural with Jon. She raised a hand to run through his messy dark hair, surprised at how soft it was against her fingers. Her other hand was on his shoulder, his skin warm beneath her palm. She felt his tongue against her lips and she opened her mouth, giving him access. Nothing had ever felt like this before.

Jon couldn't believe what he was doing. And more so, he couldn't believe that Sansa was going along with it. In fact, she seemed to be encouraging it! Despite such thoughts, he knew nothing would stop him from kissing her but her own protests. Holding her as he was... It was indescribable. There was nothing that had ever felt better. He ran his hands down the length of her body, stopping at her hips, pulling those all the closer. There was no space left between them and Jon could not help but to marvel at how perfectly she fit against him. "Sansa..." He uttered softly, breaking the kiss only to breathe, leaning in agains to trail feathery soft kisses from her lips down to the perfect curve of her neck and shoulder. He felt her tense up and he immediately looked up at her, but found she was smiling, giving him a nod as her only response. Jon raised a hand to push the sleeve of her gown away, and found himself to be pressing a kiss to the exposed skin of her shoulder, his other hand making its way into her hair again.

Every touch was magnificent, every touch was like fire against her skin. Something was awakened deep within her, something new and strange. Tipping her head back as his lips trailed the bare skin of her shoulder, Sansa felt a shudder down her spine. "Jon..." His whispered name fell from her parted lips, her breath catching in her throat. He took control of the moment, his teeth nipping the skin of her neck, his hands ever wandering, one slowly making its way down past her hips. When she felt his palm against her buttocks, she made a little sound she'd never heard herself make before, and beneath her touch Jon shivered at the sound.

He still could dare not believe what was happening. He blamed it on the drink and on Tyrion who had fed him said drinks. But... At the same time, he was thanking those very same things. Though it had only just begun, Jon was certain he could not live another moment without her at his side. In that instant, he could not help but to wonder how he'd lived this long without feeling her touch, her kiss. And then she moaned, a soft, but carnal sound that was enough to send him over the edge. It was then that he pulled back, staring into her blue eyes, a million different questions on the tip of his tongue. But then she smiled and Jon knew the truth- she wanted this as much as he did.

Taking her by the hand, Jon drew her closer to the bed, and he sat down on the edge of it. "We don't..." He murmured softly, holding fast to her hand, meeting her gaze. "If you don't..." She silenced him with a kiss, leaning down to meet his lips, her red hair a waterfall over her shoulder. "Turn around." He quietly commanded when she pulled back and he was quick enough to catch her smirk before she turned her back to him. Reaching out with slightly shaking hands, Jon began to unbutton the twenty or so buttons at the back of her gown, going slow enough to give her the time to change her mind, if she desired. But she made no sound, made no movement as even the final button came undone beneath his fingertips. Drawing his hands back, Jon watched in silence as she slipped the gown from her shoulders, letting it drop from her hands to pool at her feet. In nothing but her thin chemise, she turned back around, facing him with a nervous little smile. "You're beautiful." He said for the second time that night, though this time it took on an entirely new meaning. She blushed as she had before, but her smile was mischievous as his hands reached for her yet again. This time his palm enclosed around her breast, the thin material of her chemise all that separated his skin from hers. His thumb rubbed circles against her nipple, which grew hard beneath his touch, and Jon could not stop from leaning forward to brush his lips against it, earning him another of her soft, little moans.

She couldn't help but to compare his every touch, his every move to Ramsay. Where one had been rough, the other was gentle. Where one had been violent, the other was peaceful. Sansa had once thought she'd never do any of these sort of things with any man ever- Ramsay had ruined it for her. But... With Jon, it felt right. It felt natural. As if she'd been waiting all her life to be with him. "Jon..." She whispered as his hand closed around her breast again, his mouth trailing kisses across her collarbone. He paused at the sound of her voice and she tangled a hand into his hair, murmuring as she went... "Don't stop..."

That was all he needed to hear.

Rising up from the bed, he took the hem of her chemise into his hands and pulled it up over her head, revealing her body to his very eyes. He cupped her cheeks into his hands, kissing her deeply as he felt her brush her fingertips against the length of him. Pivoting them both to put her back to the bed, Jon gently pushed her down upon it, climbing onto the bed beside her. He trailed his hands across her body, his fingers tracing every one of her scars left behind by Ramsay, or even Joffrey. Who knew anymore. Leaning over, he gently kissed one near her collarbone, the flutter of her heartbeat against his palm bringing him a sense of security he'd truly never felt before. Kneeling, he leaned over her, hands on either side of her head, and that was when he felt her hands at his waistband. She loosened his pants and slid them down his hips, allowing him to spring free.

Her breath caught in her throat as she wrapped her hand around the length of him, feeling it pulse beneath her palm. "Sansa..." Jon's voice was thick with lust, his dark eyes finding hers as he leaned over her there on his bed. A raised brow, a silently posed question, and Sansa gave a single nod, a smile twitching on her lips. Jon allowed her to guide him towards her and he positioned himself there between her legs, his eyes seeking hers yet again. Even now, he was thinking of nothing but her. She shifted slightly and then Jon was moving, pushing into her, earning a gasp from her lips.

Rocking in time with her beneath him, Jon threw his head back as a groan left his lips; he still could believe that this was happening. He dared not believe it, in fear he'd wake up and it'd all just be a dream. But... There was nothing more real than Sansa was. She was crying out, his name upon her lips, and Jon could not help but to smile as she arched her back against him, her nails like claws down his back. He thrust a little bit harder, her cries mounting, and Jon felt himself coming close to the end. With a final thrust, he burst inside of her and then pulled away, falling down onto the bed beside her. He threw out his arm over her, drawing her close to him, her skin warm against his. She rolled onto her side to face him and for several long moments they lay there in silence, merely staring into each other's eyes, for there really were no words for either of them to say.

After what felt like hours, Sansa made to move, sliding down towards the edge of the bed as if she meant to get up. "I should go..." She began to rise up from the bed but Jon caught her hand, forcing her to stay, fixing her with his dark-eyed gaze.

"Stay..." He urged her softly, clutching a bit tighter to her hand, drawing her back towards him. "Stay with me..." She stared at him for a long moment, a smile toying with her lips, and then she obliged, falling back into place beside him. But this time she turned onto her other side, feeling the warmth of his breath against the nape of her neck. Jon slipped his arms around her, pulling her closer, pressing his pelvis against her buttocks, his lips kissing her neck as she closed her eyes. "Get some sleep," he whispered against the shell of her ear and he felt her head shift as she gave a little nod. There was nothing more he wanted, he realized, than to lay there beside her. There was nothing he had ever wanted more, in truth.

He stayed awake long after her, propping himself up onto an elbow to marvel over her sleeping profile; from the perfect curve of her cheek, to the way the light bounced off her red hair. Jon knew something good had just begun. As he lay back down beside her a while later, he drew her body back close to his own, pulling his blanket over their forms, settled beneath it as if they had always been meant to be there. As if they had always been meant to come together.


	5. Chapter 5

When Sansa woke, it was from a dreamless sleep; a sleep unplagued by nightmarish scenes, a sleep that left her feeling more rested than she had felt in months. Yawning, she opened her eyes and found herself to be staring up at the unfamiliar canopy of a bed that was not her own. She blinked, a tremor of surprise rushing through her at the same moment her stomach lurched, a reminder of all the alcohol consumed the night before. And that was when she remembered everything else about the night before.

Rolling onto her other side, Sansa was greeted with the sight of Jon asleep beside her, his back to her as he softly snored. Every image of the night before went tumbling wildly through her mind as she sat up, unsure if she should feel ashamed by the lustful thoughts crossing her mind so suddenly. She and Jon... They had... They had done everything a married man and woman would do- but neither were married, and worse yet, they were as good as siblings. And yet _... We're not_ , she reminded herself, _we're anything but brother and sister..._ And in truth, Sansa found she was wanting to do it all again.

Swinging her legs over the edge of Jon's bed, she stood up and began to gather her few belongings, pulling her silver gown back on, cursing to herself when she remembered its tiny buttons at the back. "Leaving?" Jon's sleepy voice broke the silence and Sansa turned, clutching the gown to her, peering down at him there on the bed. "I suppose it's best before a servant arrives," he pushed himself up onto an elbow, his curly hair a mess from sleep. His eyes would not leave hers and then, all of her worries, all of her concerns were gone, leaving behind nothing but joy at what had transpired between them. Perhaps... Perhaps it wasn't as wrong as her mind tried to make her believe it was. "Let me help you." He sat up, gesturing for her to come around to his side of the bed, and when she was there he turned her around so he could button her gown back into place.

"Thank you," she murmured, turning back around to face him again, unable to help but to smile as she met his eyes. Jon reached out to take her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze before letting go. "I'll see you at breakfast?" She asked, to which he grinned and gave a nod, watching as she went out of the room, allowing the door to gently close behind her. If either of the guards had thoughts about the Northern queen remaining behind closed doors with their own king for the night, neither voiced them.

Sansa made her way back to her rooms, only to find her own guards replaced by Brienne, who was looking grim as she stood before her door. "Lady Sansa!" Brienne cried out as she approached, the only person close enough to the young queen to address her as anything but 'your grace.' "You did not return to your rooms last night, I was worried!" She said to her headstrong charge, who did not speak as she slipped by her, throwing open the door to her chambers without ceremony. Brienne took in the sight of the young woman, with her rumpled dress and her tousled hair, and could not help but to wonder if she had lain with a man. Not that Brienne would blame her, she was just surprised... Especially after all that had happened.

"I stayed in Arya's rooms." Sansa lied, feeling her face grow warm as the words passed her lips. She'd never been a good liar, but Brienne focused her gaze on her for only a moment before she busied herself with calling for the handmaidens. "Ready a bath, if you will." Sansa said to them as they entered, sitting herself down at her vanity. Looking into her mirror, she took several deep breaths, a smile creeping onto her lips as she thought back to the night before. Somehow... It had all been real.

In his own rooms, Jon was finally out of bed, lazily dressed in yesterdays breeches and a shirt that he'd not even bothered to button fully. It was as he drained a goblet of ale that the doors to his rooms swung open and in marched a disgruntled looking Tyrion. "She stayed in your rooms last night?" He demanded as his eyes fell upon the young king who at least had the tact to look regretful. "I told you to invite her here to wed her, not bed her when she's drunk." Tyrion heaved an exasperated sigh but crossed the room to stand before Jon as he sat down on the edge of his bed. He supposed one good thing could come from this- Sansa's approval of a marriage would be easy to gain.

"You know?" Jon arched a brow in surprise, but chuckled, supposing he'd been wrong to assume there was anything Tyrion didn't know.

"Your guards talk," Tyrion harrumphed, though the look he shot the King was a bit more fond than anything else. "They said she came to you... What a way you have with women, Jon Snow," the dwarf shook his head, almost in disbelief. "Two beautiful queens bed you without so much as a courting period... It's shocking, really." Jon smirked at Tyrion's use of his name, more like a nickname from the older man to the younger one anymore. "You know what you must do next, don't you?" Jon shook his head, well, then nodded as part of him did indeed know what he had to do next. But he was positive what he was thinking wasn't what Tyrion was thinking. "Court her. Love her. Wed her. Parade through all of the Seven Kingdoms with her on your arm," he leaned forward in his chair, fixing Jon with his dark gaze. "Prove to this broken nation that peace is stronger than war."

Tyrion was right. Jon knew that if he didn't solidify the newly acquired peace then it would all fall to shambles. Tensions still yet ran high and Jon knew he had to make the right moves to ensure they didn't run over. Marriage... Had that not been Tyrion's suggestion a few weeks before when they had first invited Sansa and Arya there. There was no better ally to have than the North men, his own men, for despite it all he was from the North too. And the thought of wedding Sansa? It filled him with a feeling he simply could not describe. So he nodded, telling Tyrion he understood all that he'd said to him. He nodded, to tell him that he was ready to take the next step to further his relationship with Sansa.

And he knew it wasn't just for the good of the nation, it wasn't just for politics. It was the one thing he knew he wanted most in this whole world. There was nothing he wanted more than to wake up every morning with her in his bed, nothing he wanted more than to have her on a throne beside his own. There was no one he'd want to spend the rest of his life with. And the feeling sent waves of pleasure rushing through him.

That was when Jon realized the truth... He was in love with her.

[ x x x ]

The days turned to weeks and before he knew what was happening, Jon was spending every moment with her. He found himself bored without her chatter, cold without her touch. Even the smallest of her gestures were burned into his memory, so fiercely that he was certain he knew her better than even she knew herself. He scoured her brain for her opinions on his men of state, for her advice on the governing of his throne, and for her words of comfort when his own old demons came back to haunt him. Much like Sansa, he too held guilt and heartache over things in his past.

But, best not to dwell on those things.

It was late morning when they found themselves alone, strolling through the palace towards the courtyard doors, ever intent on taking a morning walk. Jon was hyper aware of her small hand perched on his elbow, how warm her skin was against his own despite the layers of clothing between them. "Look at the sun," Sansa murmured as they stepped out into the sunshine, bright enough to warm their exposed skin. "It's so warm."

Jon turned to look at her profile illuminated by the winter sun, setting her already fiery hair ablaze in color. "Winter will be over sooner than we thought," he mused, reaching for her hand, causing her to turn back to him, a smile lingering on her lips. "Perhaps we will see spring again." It didn't feel like all that long ago that he was standing before Ned Stark, hearing the words winter is coming, fall from his lips. And it really wasn't all that long ago that he said those very same words to Sansa back at Winterfell. A never ending winter... It had felt so real back then, but standing there in the cold, winter sun with Sansa... Everything just felt too bright, everything just felt to wonderful to be subjected to the frozen, dark wasteland that was never ending winter.

"Spring is coming," Sansa said with a chuckle as she turned back out to face the courtyard, her hand still tightly clasped in his. "After everything that's happened, spring has to come." For several long moments, they stood there before one another, and then Jon was reaching for her, brushing her mouth with his own. He felt her other hand come to meet his shoulder and she was kissing him back, her mouth soft and warm against his. They had not come together again since that first time, the night of the ball, but they had shared a few more kisses as the weeks had passed. In truth, it was more like a proper courting, Sansa had come to realize only days before when he'd offered her his arm before all of the court. Something about that made her happier than anything else ever could have.

He reached out his free arm, slinging it around her waist to draw her closer to him. She let out a little giggle, her breath a cloud of white in the cold, morning air as her arm extended out over his shoulder, hand snaking up the back of his head. "Spring has already come for me, in truth," he whispered to her, watching as her face lit up with his words, her mouth curving with her joy. "I love you, Sansa." He said the words he'd been longing to say for days now, weeks really. The words he'd been playing over and over again in his mind, to find the perfect way to say them, to find the best way to tell her the truth of his feelings. But now that the moment was here, he found there no reason to give her a speech, not when there were only three words that mattered in the end. "I love you." He repeated, bringing one of his hands up to cup her cheek into his palm, his own mouth beaming with a smile.

When Jon spoke, Sansa heard words she'd not thought she'd ever hear from a man. How could she have ever thought to be loved by a man, when she'd known nothing but abuse from them? But standing there before Jon, with his warm hand against her cold cheek, with his dark eyes staring deep into her own... She knew this is what it felt like to be loved. It felt warm and it felt safe, it felt better than any thing else ever had. "I love you, too," she murmured, speaking her own truth, the words never having more truth than they did right then. Jon took her into his arms then, embracing her tightly as a cold gust of wind blew past them. Shivering despite the warmth of their cloaks, they returned to the palace, to warm up before Jon's meeting with his advisers.

But as they walked, something was taking over him.

Taking her by the hand, Jon led her down an empty corridor, ignoring the surprised words leaving her lips. "Jon... What are you... Where are you...?" She was silenced as he pushed her against the wall, his lips finding hers, no longer able to hold himself back from what he'd been longing to do. He felt her yield to his kiss at once, her hands gripping the front of his shirt as her teeth nibbled on his lower lip, sending chills down his spine. "Jon!" She gasped as he pulled away, his lips on her neck a moment before his teeth sunk down on the soft flesh just below her jaw.

He could hardly stand to wait much more.

Fiddling with the waist of his pants, Jon caught her attention and her hands were there at once, taking over from his. Jon took this opportunity to heft her up the wall, expertly maneuvering her as she pulled his pants past his hips. With his member exposed, Jon positioned himself between her legs and lowered her just enough for the tip to touch her most sensitive of places. The moan that escaped her was almost enough to end things right there, but Jon maintained control even as he lowered her the rest of the way onto himself. His own lips parted with a groan as he tipped his head back, thrusting gently into her as she wrapped her legs around his hips. "Sansa," he rasped as she spasmed with pleasure, feeling her tighten around him as she gave a loud mewl that echoed in the chamber. "Shhh," he whispered as he laughed, giving her a particularly hard thrust, earning another little cry that almost sent him over the edge.

Sansa couldn't think of anything other than how incredibly amazing it felt to be there in that empty corridor with Jon. His hands were warm and strong on her arms, keeping her aloft as he pushed himself into her and then pulled back out, slowly inching his way back inside of her. He was tormenting her, she decided, and tangled her hands into his hair as his mouth clamped down over her breast, his chin brushing aside the little bit of fabric that had been the low neckline of her gown. Her hands were still in his hair as his tongue made circles around her nipple. "Jon!" She could scarcely spit out his name as she felt him reach all the way inside of her.

There was no way he could make it much longer.

Jon adjusted her position against the wall and when he thrust into her, she had to bury her face into his hair to keep from crying out. Apparently, he'd found the right spot. But not just for her. He felt himself spilling over as she clamped down around him, her voice muffled against his skin as he lowered her back towards the ground. As her feet touched down, she clung to him, and he to her, panting and grinning over what had just occurred. Reaching out, he brushed a stray lock of hair from her sweaty forehead, chuckling at her appearance. "You look as if you've been misbehaving," he put a hand against the wall to the side of her head, leaning down, his lips hovering just over hers. "The court will whisper..." She giggled as his mouth closed down over hers again, this time a gentler kiss that still managed to steal her breath away.

"Let them whisper, they always do," Sansa retorted with a breathy laugh, her blue eyes flashing as they met Jon's gaze. "At least this time it's over something good," her hands still held fast to the front of his shirt and she gave a little pull, drawing him close enough to put her lips to his. "You'll be late for your meeting," she murmured as she drew back from him, giving him a little push instead, slipping out from beneath his grasp in the process. "Come on then," Jon groaned, but laughed, following after her into the main hall, absently adjusting his clothes as they went.

The last thing he wanted to do after that session in the hall was attend a meeting of any kind, but he knew this was one he could not skip. As they approached his council room, he saw Brienne of Tarth coming down the hall towards them; in truth it seemed like she had a sixth sense when it came to Sansa. "Your grace," Brienne said to both of them in turn, offering a little bow as the doors opened behind them, revealing Tyrion there, with Jaime hovering in the background. "My lady, shall I escort you back to your rooms?" Jon looked at Sansa, who gave a single nod and smiled and Jon, before sweeping past all of them with her head held high, looking very much like the queen she was. Jon nodded to Brienne before he ducked into his council room, where the worst sort of meeting was to take place.

He had to decide what to do about his traitorous aunt, the young woman he had once felt something for. She was still yet locked away in his dungeons, well cared for, but in the dungeon all the same. She was a flight risk, a war risk, and they couldn't take chances with her. At least, that's what his advisers kept on saying anyway. It was up to him in the end what happened with Daenerys but there was a part of him that just couldn't make that final call.m But, he was King, and those were the kinds of decisions he had to make, regardless of what it did to his conscience.

At least, that's what he told himself to make every one a little bit easier.


	6. Chapter 6

_The room was quiet, yet from the depths of his sleeping mind he swore he could hear softly approaching footsteps. Passing off the sleepy thoughts, he rolled onto his other side, unaware of the person slipping into his bedroom unannounced. It wasn't until he felt the dip of the mattress beneath a body that his senses awakened and his eyes flew open. Hovering above him was a pair of lovely blue eyes, the silvery hair aglow in the dying firelight. "Daenerys..." His voice rasped her name, loins stirring as they always did when he looked so closely into her beautiful eyes._

 _But then... Then he realized something was off. Something just wasn't right. Tears were filling her eyes, regret making them wide and unblinking as she looked down at him. And that was when he caught the glint of the blade in her hand, that was when he saw the blood already stained across the front of her dress. "Daenerys, what in the hell are you doing-!" He nearly rolled off his side of the bed in his attempt to get away from her as the blade plunged down, nicking him in the arm as she gave a little cry._

 _"There can only be on heir," she whispered and then suddenly, everything began to make sense. The blade was raised high over her head and he knew what she was about to do. The knife came down, aimed straight for his very heart, and Jon closed his eyes against it. He couldn't face her this way... He couldn't fight back against a woman he loved, not again. But the came the shout of a man and the clang of the blade as it hit the floor. And then Daenerys was falling back, yanked backwards by the force of a hand. When Jon opened his eyes again, Tyrion stood there, hovering over the dragon queen who lay in a ball on the floor, tears streaming down her pale cheeks._

 _And then..._

And then he woke up.

When Jon looked beside him, he found Sansa there asleep, her body rolled away from him as she softly snored. He could not stop himself from reaching out, gently touching her temple, brushing away a lock of red hair. They had been spending more and more nights together, improper as it was, but for the most part most of the court and kingdom was unaware of the budding love between the one time siblings. Jon knew better than to bring slander to her name by getting caught in any inappropriate situations. He supposed the only two people in the world to know the truth would be Tyrion and Brienne. Even Arya was unaware of the depth of their relationship.

Feeling wide awake despite the late hour, Jon rose up from bed, careful to avoid letting the cold slip beneath the blankets as he went. Pulling on yesterdays clothes, he took to the window seat, staring out into the darkness of the courtyard while the moon glowed high overhead. This gave him the chance to think about all that had transpired those last few days, to think even about the dream he had just woken from. He could remember it like yesterday, when Daenerys had slipped into his rooms that night at Winterfell. Jon could not hardly blame her for what she had done- after all she had experienced, after everything she'd gone through to get to where she had been... Only to have it all ripped out from under her? And to think... Jon hadn't even wanted this. He hadn't wanted to be King, except for maybe in the North. Had she only talked about it with him... Had she only spoken to him, rather than act on impulse as she so often had... Then he could have told her she could have it.

But, that was then and this was now. There was no going back, no taking back the actions that Daenerys had displayed that night. Even if he had said no, I don't want it, no one would have accepted her as their queen. Not after so many witnessed her almost unstable behavior. And so he'd had to throw his own blood into a dark, damp cell beneath Kings Landing, and hope she would learn her place. But, after the last few days, Jon wasn't so certain she had. Or that she ever would...

"Jon?"

He'd not heard her rise up from bed, so engrossed in his own thoughts was he. Looking up, Jon found himself staring back at Sansa, who stood before him in just her white nightgown, her unbound hair falling nearly to her hips. "It's cold," she observed, noticing how closely he leaned against the cold plane of glass that was the window. Jon said nothing and Sansa gave a little sigh, taking a single step closer to him. That was when he opened his arms and she climbed up onto his lap, folding herself into his embrace, returning warmth to his chilled body. "Was it a dream?" Her voice came a few minutes later, surprising him, for he had thought she'd drifted off back to sleep.

"Yes," he admitted, knowing better than to lie to Sansa, who couldn't tell one to save her life, but could sniff them out a mile away. She snuggled closer to him and he tightened his grip on her, resting his chin atop her head. "About that night..."

Of course, Sansa knew what he meant; she remembered that night as well as he did. She remembered her first sight of the dragon queen, with her beautiful eyes and her silver hair, her arm on Jon's as if they were man and wife. Sansa recalled the wave of jealousy that had washed over her, surprised at how quickly it had come that day. But then she remembered that night, the night when Bran had told them all in the room that day the truth about Jon. The truth about who he was. Everything had changed in that moment, for all of them, because suddenly it wasn't Daenerys with the strongest claim to the throne. And suddenly, Jon wasn't the Stark family bastard, either. In fact, he was anything but a bastard.

That night, while the whole house was sleeping, Daenerys had crept into Jon's room to murder him. She'd managed to murder a single guard and had planned to murder everyone that had heard the truth that day... But Tyrion had stopped her. The one person who knew her mind nearly as well as she knew her own... He had known what the dragon queen would try to do. Tyrion had saved Jon's life. She knew how hard that had been on Jon, for he'd begun to develop feelings for Daenerys and she him, but nothing could have stood in her way for the Iron Throne, not even a man she loved. Especially not a man she loved. And so Daenerys had done what she thought she had to do in order to secure her place, but had gravely overstepped.

Sansa also knew the truth of Jon's want to be King... He would have been happy in the North, he would have been happy without the Iron Throne. But after everything that had happened, he no longer had a choice. And so he bore the weight of the throne without a single complaint, knowing there was no one else who could do it but him. But, Sansa believed in him. She knew he would be a good king, even if he didn't think he was cut out for the job. "They want me to execute her..." Jon's voice broke into her thoughts and she tipped her head back to look into his eyes, eyes so full of uncertainty that it broke her heart. She slipped her hand into his and gaze it a squeeze.

"There's no need to worry about it tonight." She said softly, drawing his attention back to her, keeping her eyes on his. "You'll make the right choice when the time comes." She felt him squeeze her hand back and then they fell into silence, with her huddled up in his embrace, and him leaning against the window. Jon knew that Sansa wasn't wrong. In that moment, with her there on his lap, the last thing he should have been thinking about were matters of state. Instead, he breathed in her sweet, familiar scent and felt calming waves wash over him. Just having her there in his arms was enough to make him forget about everything else in his life.

They remained there until the feeling was beginning to go from his legs, until the moon hung so low in the sky that surely the sun was to rise at any given moment. That was when he realized Sansa was fast asleep. Carefully rising to avoid waking her, Jon carried her across the room to deposit her gently into his bed. Then, he climbed back in beside her, to draw her close to him and close his own eyes, falling asleep quicker than he had anticipated.

This time, when he slept, he dreamed of her... With her wide, bright blue eyes and her radiant smile. He dreamed of her swathed in white and gold, with a crown perched atop her fiery red hair. And then he dreamed of her beside him, clutching a soft little bundle close to her chest, while tears filled her eyes as she turned to look at him. He woke before he saw what the bundle held, but something told him he already knew... it had been their future. Looking down at Sansa's sleeping form, Jon smiled, and knew in the end, he would do whatever it took to protect her.

He'd do whatever he had to do to ensure a bright and safe future for her, for them.

[ x x x ]

"My lady?"

Sansa groaned, rolling onto her side while she drew the blankets further over her head. Though she longed to simply ingore Brienne there at her bedside, she knew she couldn't much longer. "My lady, its quite late." The woman went on as Sansa pulled the covers back down, revealing her pale, drawn face to her. "Are you unwell this morning?" It wouldn't have been the first morning that the young queen was feeling ill, as she'd just stayed in bed late two days before too. Brienne was beginning to piece everything together, but something told her Sansa had yet to discover it for herself.

"I'm fine," Sansa said, her voice a bit sharper than she meant for it to be as she kicked back the covers on her bed. As she rose up from the bed, she felt the familiar sensation of nausea rocking her, and she had to put a hand on the nearby table to steady herself. When it passed, she shot Brienne a look to keep her from speaking. "I'm fine," she repeated, though something told her she was anything but fine. Brienne, ever used to her lady's stubborn outbursts, sighed but said nothing as she gestured at the other table, where the maids had laid out a small breakfast for her. At the sight of the food, Sansa felt her stomach lurch and she knew it was happening a moment too late. Throwing up into the empty piss bucket, she retched until her stomach was empty, though the nausea had yet to pass. Sinking down onto the edge of her bed, Sansa turned her red rimmed eyes onto Brienne, who waved away the maids that had come running at the sound of Brienne's worried shout. "Perhaps I'm not so fine."

Brienne knelt down beside the bed, tenderly reaching out to touch Sansa's knee. "My lady..." She spoke softly, watching as Sansa bowed her head, red hair falling across her shoulders to hide her face from view. "Let me call for a maester." Sansa turned back to her then and met Brienne's gaze before finally nodding, knowing deep down there was no options left for her but that. Besides, part of her knew what was happening to her body, even if she was not ready to admit what that was. "I will return anon," Brienne stood, calling for Sansa's favorite handmaidens, telling them to draw their queen a bath and ready a gown for her. And then she was gone, to find the maester to bring back to Sansa.

[ x x x ]

"Sick?"

Jon's worried vocals carried along the hall as he met with Brienne of Tarth, who was looking as grim as she always did. "A little unwell is all, your grace." She clarified, noticing the concern that crossed the king's features at the news of Sansa's illness. "The maester is with her already, I'm sure it's nothing more than a malady of the stomach." She did not disclose any more details with the king, figuring Sansa would if she so desired. "I just thought you should like to know."

"Thank you, Brienne." Jon said by way of dismissal, half tempted to join Sansa in her chambers, though he supposed it was no place for him in that moment. He'd go to her later, he decided. Besides... He had other things to deal with today.

As he strode down the corridors back towards his throne room, he was met by a terrifyingly angry Tyrion, who was coming towards him. "Your grace!" Tyrion spoke as they neared one another, his dark eyes burning in his face. "I must inform you, Daenerys was freed from her cell, she's escaped." For a long moment, Jon could not breathe, let alone speak. He stared down at his Hand and then further down the hall, to where sure enough a crowd was gathering, an angry mob of guards and courtiers alike. "It would seem we have less friends in this castle than we originally thought." Of course, not all men could be trusted, but Jon had not thought something like this to be possible. Of all things, he'd not thought this could ever happen. He thought he could trust those within his circle, those within his palace walls.

Now, he knew better.

"We must find her. And find those who conspire against us." Jon spoke the only words he could find to say and he went on past, Tyrion at his heels, to join the crowd gathering before the set of stairs that led to the dungeons. His eyes fell upon Jaime and he beckoned the man to follow him, the only other man he truly felt he could trust besides Tyrion. Everyone else... Could not be trusted, at least not yet. "Call a meeting." He said to Tyrion, who nodded, and at once set off to do as he was bid. "Send out a call to arms, we must search for her. She cannot hide so easily." He said to Jaime, who nodded and gave a little bow, making to leave as well. "Wait, Jaime," Jon's words caused the older man to pause, turning back to face him. "Post your most trusted guard outside Sansa and Arya's chambers, will you?" The man's features softened and then he nodded, before he too set off in order to do as his king commanded.

Jon's gaze swept the crowd, as if he might pick out the traitor among them, but of course he could not. Instead, he turned on his heel, forcing his way through the crowd back towards his throne room, where he would make his thoughts known. Where he would let the traitors know that there would be no escaping his wrath, once he got his hands upon them.

[ x x x ]

When Jon did finally join her in her rooms that evening, he was so full of pent up frustration he could not even sit. He walked back and forth, raging and storming about the days events, talking for what very well could have been hours before he suddenly came to a halt, to turn and look at her there on the bed, as if only just now remembering she was there. "Sansa, I'm sorry..." He muttered, reaching up to run a hand through his messy curls. "You are unwell and I am certainly bothering you."

At his words, Sansa gave a little laugh and patted the bed beside her, indicating for him to join her. But when he did sit down, she sobered, her blue eyes darkening as they met his. "I worry for you, it is dangerous now that she has escaped." Sansa slipped her hand over his and Jon smiled, the flutter of happiness she brought him taking over the anger and worry in his heart. "I'm fine, besides." She had every intention of telling him the truth behind her sudden illness. In fact, she'd been reciting the words in her head over and over all day, to be prepared to tell him when he did finally come to her. But now that he was there... Now that he had spilled all his worries and concerns to her over what had happened that day, Sansa found she'd lost her nerve. She couldn't stand the idea of just shouldering him with more things to worry about.

And so, she said nothing at all.

"I'm glad to hear it," Jon rose back up from the bed, going to stand across the room at the window, staring out into the darkness below. "I have new guards posted at yours and Arya's rooms." When Sansa opened her mouth to protest, Jon turned back around to meet her eyes, and she fell silent. "I will not ever risk your safety, Sansa." A small smile toyed with her lips and then she too rose up from the bed, crossing the room to meet him. He took her into his embrace and Sansa lay her head against his chest, his heartbeat strong against the shell of her ear. "I should go," he whispered into her hair a moment later, pulling back from her though it was the last thing he wanted to do. Sansa gave him a single nod, the kiss to her lips warm and gentle, and then he was gone, leaving her to the darkness of her chamber.

"Did you tell him?" Brienne's voice cut into her thoughts and Sansa turned to her lady guard, a little chuckle escaping her lips as she shook her head. "He'll want to know, my lady." Brienne went on, watching as Sansa returned to her bed, her palm pressed against the flat plane of her stomach.

"He has so much else to worry about. This can wait... It's early days yet, I won't burden him with it so soon." Sansa replied softly, knowing what she said was true. It would only be a few days before Daenerys was captured and all would be well again. Then she could tell him the truth behind her illness. Then she could tell him that she wasn't ill at all, but rather, was carrying his own child, the future heir to his throne.

She would tell him when the moment was right.


	7. Chapter 7

In the days that followed Daenerys' escape from the dungeon, Kings Landing was in chaos. From the soldiers that searched to her to the council men that argued over what to do with her when she was caught, there seemed to be nothing but anger among them all. It was driving Jon mad and their time together had significantly shrunk in the days since then. Not that she could blame him, he had more important things to worry about, and besides she was too tired to bother with the ways of the court.

And so that was why Sansa found herself to be locked away in her chambers for most of the days, passing the time by sending letters home, to ready her own Northern men should they be needed in the capture of the dragon queen. Sansa knew of all the men, the one from home could always be trusted. If Daenerys made her way north, her men would capture her without fail.

It was late one night when Sansa found herself writing a letter to Bran, who had written only the day before inquiring about all that was going on in Kings Landing. Yawning, she rose up from her seat and paused by the other table, surprised to see an untouched glass of wine there upon it. _That's funny, I don't remember anyone leaving this here,_ she thought to herself as she grasped the glass, raising it to her lips. Giving it a sniff, she could smell nothing but the sweet scent of the wine and so she shrugged, taking a long sip from it. The wine tasted as sweet as it smelled and for once, her stomach did not lurch at the taste of something. Taking another sip, she yawned again, deciding that perhaps now was the time to head to bed for the night. She had been dressed for bed hours ago, but she had found herself to be restless this particular night. Draining the last ounce of red liquid from the glass, Sansa set it down, realizing a moment later just how tired she had suddenly become. She took a single step towards her bed and stumbled, her feet feeling like dead weight beneath her. Something... Something was wrong.

Outside her door, she heard what sounded like a thump and a shout, but in her groggy mind she simply could not make sense of it. She made it to her bed, collapsing upon it just as the door to her chambers opened. Fighting against the sleep that threatened to overtake her, Sansa forced her eyes open as a form cloaked in shadow appeared at her bedside. She opened her mouth to scream, to speak, but found there were no words she could form as the figure loomed overhead. Try as she might, Sansa could not keep her eyes open, and the last thing she knew before sleep overtook her was the feeling of rough hands on her arms.

And then... Everything went black.

[ x x x ]

Jon was tired, but his feet did not lead him to his chambers. In truth, there was nothing he wanted more than to lay beside Sansa, who surely would be asleep at this hour of the night. The days had been long since Daenerys had escaped from Kings Landing and Jon reminded himself to apologize to Sansa for neglecting her. Though, he supposed of all people she would understand his neglect.

However, as he approached her chambers, Jon knew something to be amiss.

The two guards posted at her door lay dead on the floor, blood pooling beneath their heads as both of their throats had been cleanly slit. Jon felt his stomach heave and his heart turned over in his chest, fear chilling his body. "Sansa," he muttered, stepping over the guards bodies and pushed open the door to her chamber, only to find it empty. "Sansa!" He shouted, his heart thumping hard against his ribcage. Something cold and dark was taking root within him, a helpless feeling he was sure to remember for the rest of his life.

"Your grace?"

He spun at the sound of Brienne's voice, the blonde woman stepping into the room over the dead guards, her features taut with worry. "Where is Sansa?" He demanded of her, crossing the room to stand before her, expecting this woman to know. Of all people, Brienne would know where Sansa had run off to.

"She was here when I left not an hour ago, I was checking on Arya at her own request." Brienne replied, a shudder racing through her as she realized what was happening. Two dead guards? Someone had wanted to take Sansa and take her they had. All ettiquete thrown out the window, Brienne pushed past Jon to walk towards the table in the center of the room. There upon it was an empty glass of what she could only assume had been wine... Who had brought that to her? It hadn't been there when she'd left earlier that night. Her mind was racing with every possible thought, every possible outcome, dread heavy on her heart. She never should have left her side, she never should have gone to Arya's rooms... But she had and now, Sansa was gone. She'd never forgive herself.

Jon closed in on the bed, rumpled slightly as if someone had been laying on top of the covers rather than beneath them and that was when he saw it. A single, folded up piece of parchment there on Sansa's pillow; with shaking hands, he reached out, picking it up between two fingers. Unfolding it, Jon felt a pain worse than any other pain had ever felt, and he sagged beneath the weight of it, falling into the chair beside the table. "She's taken her..." Jon whispered, shaking his head as he reread the letter for the third time, the pain in his heart only intensifying. Brienne came to stand beside him and Jon shoved the parchment at the female guard, who took it and read the single line written upon it.

 _Abdicate and she will live. Deny me my throne and you will never see her again._

Running a hand over his face, Jon closed his eyes, picturing Sansa in the last moment he'd seen her; with her hair unbound and her lips smiling as she tried to coax him from a foul mood. He'd have given anything to have that moment back. He'd have given anything to have been there when she'd gone to bed, because perhaps then she'd still be there in her bed asleep. "Wake Tyrion," he said to Brienne, opening his eyes to fall upon the woman who had sworn to always protect Sansa. "Speak to no one else. Go to Tyrion and tell him what's happened. And then wake Arya." Brienne gave a nod and then a stiff bow, backing out of the room to do as she was bid.

Then Jon slowly rose to his feet, swearing right then and there that he would do whatever it took to get Sansa back, even if it meant giving up his throne. He'd do anything if it meant she would be safe.

[ x x x ]

 _She was falling..._

Blinking back to the world of consciousness, Sansa realized she was not falling, but had been dropped unceremoniously onto a bed that was not her own. Nor was it Jon's. In fact, now that she opened her eyes, she could see the entire room was unfamiliar to her. "Where..." She trailed off, forcing herself into a sitting position, rubbing her eyes. She was so tired, oh so very tired... But fear was creeping into her heart, into her mind, forcing her awake despite how her body protested.

Where was she? Sansa fought to remember all that had happened, but her memories were scarce. "So, you're awake," a voice spoke and she gasped, turning towards the door way to find none other than Daenerys standing there, her silver hair wild about her pale cheeks. She was thin, skeletal really, from her months locked away in the dungeons of Kings Landing. "I thought you'd not wake for hours still." She pushed away from the door frame, coming to stand beside the bed, her blue eyes widening ever so slightly as they gazed upon her. "When I asked Jorah to bring me the person who's kidnapping would bring him the most pain, I did not expect it to be you."

In truth, Daenerys did not know much about the girl on the bed before her. Of course, she had heard the stories, the rumors... About the oldest Stark girl's life in Kings Landing and how she'd been sold to the Boltons, where the abuse she had suffered had been unspeakable. Daenerys knew that Jon had crowned her a queen in her own right a mere day after his own crowning, giving her control over the entire North, separating it from his own kingdom without pause. But beyond that, she didn't know much about this girl. However as she stared at her, Daenerys could see something that perhaps even the girl herself did not yet know. Now, she understood why Jorah had brought her here and not another woman. She had heard the rumors even in her jail cell, that Jon was sure to marry before the first year of his reign was over. To think... To think his bride was to be the girl there before her.

"Why are you doing this?" Sansa asked, sitting up a bit straighter as she pinned the silver haired woman with her gaze. "What do you think you'll accomplish by doing this?" Of course, it all was beginning to make sense in her own mind- the wine, it'd been doused with a sleeping potion. Jorah, Daenerys had said, he must have left it there for her to drink and had been the one she saw right before falling asleep. This was all because of Jon's rightful place as heir to the Iron Throne and not her own, there was no other possible reason.

"He stole what was mine." Daenerys whispered, giving her head a little shake as if to clear her thoughts. "He _knew_ what I've done to get here. He knew it was to be mine." Her words were sharp, full of anger, of hurt. "After all that I did for him- I lost one of my dragons, my _child_ for him, and yet... He still had himself crowned." She turned her back to Sansa, arms hugging herself as if chilled, and then silence fell.

For a moment, Sansa felt pity for the young woman before her. A woman not much older than she, a woman who had suffered through endless trials and agony to get to where she was now. Sansa supposed she could not blame her for her feelings, but she could blame her for her actions. But then the pity washed away and a flicker of anger began to burn within herself. "Jon did none of those things and you know it," Sansa shot back, the heat of her words forcing Daenerys to turn back to her with surprised eyes. "If you'd but taken a moment to talk to Jon about it, you would have learned the truth." She swung her legs over the bed and stood, facing the dragon queen with fierce blue eyes. "He didn't even want the Iron Throne." The words fell between them and Daenerys remained silent, staring back at the Northern queen with wide eyes. "He would have let you have it, he would have stood beside you at your coronation. But you... You are a woman of impulse and impulse brings nothing but trouble. You sealed your own fate that night you attacked Jon."

Daenerys said nothing as she listened to the Stark girl speak, hearing the words she never imagined she'd hear. Jon... Jon hadn't wanted the throne? Suddenly, she was back to that night, to when they'd learned the truth of Jon's family. When the meeting had been over, he'd touched her elbow and told her he wanted to talk. But what had she done? She'd wrenched her arm from his grasp and left the room without a word. Had that been what he'd wanted to tell her? "I don't believe you." She said stubbornly, shaking her head before pinning her own blue eyes onto Sansa's.

"I care not if you believe it, but it is true nonetheless." Sansa retorted, shrugging as if they spoke of something as casual as the weather. "He would have given you the throne at the cost of nothing but the North. With his backing, the people would have readily accepted you." Sansa couldn't help but to smirk a bit as she went on speaking. "But you acted on impulse, as you are known to do, and it did not end in your favor. Jon did not take your thrown, you willingly gave it to him that night you tried to kill him." Daenerys sagged with the weight of the truth, falling into the chair beside the single table in the room. She looked pitiful, there in that chair, and Sansa felt another flicker of pity for her. She could not imagine what she must have felt that night, to have everything she'd ever worked for taken from her... But, all it would have taken was a single conversation. She had chose not to do that and for that, well, Sansa could not feel any pity.

"He should have had me executed." Daenerys said softly, turning her head to stare at the old tapestry on the wall, her face downcast. Her heart ached with the knowledge she'd been given this day and the weight of her mistakes was enough to drag her down.

"You're right," Sansa's voice broke in and caused Daenerys to turn, a brow slightly arched at her words. "He should have executed you, it's what happens to traitors." For a split second, Sansa was reminded of her own father's execution, the sight of his blood staining the stage still fresh in her mind. "It's what everyone else wanted to have happen to you. But Jon knows you, Tyrion knows you." Sansa offered her a wane smile, taking a single step closer to her. "He will never execute you, even after this." She decided she wouldn't allow it to happen, whether Jon wanted to or not. Despite all that had happened, Sansa knew most mistakes could be forgiven. Though she may not be able to live a life at court or in a kingdom of her own, Daenerys would live... The only other living Targaryen.

Well, for now.

Without thinking, she placed a hand against the flat plane of her stomach, her heart skipping a beat at the thought of it all. "Does he know?" Daenerys' voice cut into her thoughts and Sansa returned her gaze to her before giving her head a little shake. "You've only just learned?" This time a nod. Daenerys felt a lurch of guilt and she stood, gesturing for Sansa to remain where she was. "I will ensure your safe return home." Her words surprised Sansa but she wasn't about to argue with her. "Although something tells me Jon will find you before I can send you home to him." At that, Sansa chuckled, giving a little nod to tell her she agreed. "Stay, rest... The sleeping potion is quite strong, I'm certain you must still feel tired." That was true as well, Sansa realized only then just how tired she still was. "I will arrange everything."

And then Daenerys was gone, leaving Sansa alone in the room, with only the hope that she was telling her the truth to hang onto.

[ x x x ]

The peaks of Dragonstone were finally within sight.

Jon had not known what prompted him to check here first, other than he knew Daenerys and he knew this would be where she fled to. His mind was a whirlwind of emotions, but his one and only thought was of Sansa. Was she well? Had Daenerys harmed her at all? He'd execute her himself, if she had harmed even one hair upon Sansa's head. He squeezed his hands into fists and that was when he felt the warm, small hand upon his. Looking up, it was Arya that had reached out, her dark eyes finding his. He felt comforted and placed a hand over hers, returning the smile as Ser Davos called out their arrival to the shore.

The boat had barely hit the sand before Jon was out of it, racing up the beach towards the castle with Arya and Brienne on his heels. To his surprise, out on the stone steps they were met by Jorah, Daenerys' ever loyal companion. "She thought you might come here," Jorah said by way of greeting, his expression grim as his eyes swept from one face to another. All three had already unsheathed their blades by the time he'd finished speaking and Jorah held up his hands in a gesture of fealty. "There's no need, your grace," he said to Jon, raising his eyes to meet the king's. "She is inside." Jon wasn't sure if he meant Sansa or Daenerys, but he would find out soon.

"Take him to the boat," Jon said to Brienne, who moved without a word, taking Jorah by the arm and wrenching it behind his back. Then she led him back down the stone steps they had only just climbed, to where she'd tie him up in the boat, left behind with Ser Davos to watch over him. And then he was gone, making his way up the rest of the steps to push past the double doors that led into the castle. He'd been here so often, he knew its pathways and passages by heart... But he didn't know where she'd be keeping Sansa. It was all he could do to not start shouting her name throughout the entire place.

"Jon..." Arya's whisper came and he turned to the direction she was looking, only to see Daenerys there in a doorway. He took a few steps towards her and Daenerys offered him an apologetic sort of look, her blue eyes full of sorrow as she looked upon him. "Where is my sister?" Arya demanded, her voice echoing along the stone corridor, her hands clenched into fists at her sides.

"She's down the hall, just down there," the silver haired woman pointed down the next hall, and Arya took off at a run, calling out to Sansa. Jon remained still for a moment, staring at the woman he'd once loved, the second woman to have ever tried to kill him. "I'll wait." Daenerys said with a small smile, gesturing for Jon to move on. Jon hesitated, but heard the approaching footsteps behind him and knew the others were coming. He could leave her to them, for now that was. And so he took off in the direction Arya had gone, running until he heard her voice.

The door was already open when he arrived and as he crossed the threshold of the room, he saw her. Arya had her arms around her, having not let her go since the moment she had walked into the room. But both sisters turned and looked up at the sound of footsteps, and that was when their eyes met. Jon felt relief wash over him at the sight of her; she was pale, tired looking, but she was unharmed. Her red hair was twisted back and she wore an unfamilar gown of light blue that was a little too short for her tall frame. He realized then it must have been one of Daenerys' old ones. "Sansa..." He murmured and then she was coming towards him. He took her into his arms, breathing in her sweet, familiar scent, unashamed by the tears filling his eyes. She was safe... She was safe! Pulling back, Jon leaned in to kiss her, relishing in the feeling of her lips against his. He had almost lost her... He shuddered at the thought and Sansa must have felt it, for she wrapped her arms around him and held on tight. "Are you alright?" He asked when he drew back, holding her at arms length to give her a more full inspection.

Sansa gave a little laugh and nodded. "I'm fine, Jon." She insisted as he touched her cheek, her shoulders, her arms. "Honestly." She said softly as his eyes came back up to meet her own and she reached out a hand, gently cupping his cheek into her palm. Jon closed his eyes against the tears gathering in his eyes and drew her back to him, holding her close to his chest, just breathing her in. She was his again. And more importantly, she was safe. Slipping his arm around her waist, Jon gestured for Arya as well, slipping his other arm around her as well. And then together they walked from the room, sweeping through the corridors until they reached the main hall, where Brienne stood with the others, Daenerys and Tyrion. At the sight of them, Brienne's face lit up and she rushed towards them, calling out to Sansa, who immediately went to her guard, throwing her arms around her, all propeity thrown aside. Brienne held her close and then with a nod from Jon, led her further down the corridor towards the double doors that would lead them back outside. Sansa cast only one last glance behind her, meeting eyes with Daenerys, before the doors swung closed behind her and Brienne.

Jon then turned to Daenerys and Tyrion, his brown eyes dark and somber as they fell upon the one time queen. In his heart, he knew what he had to do, but part of him could still not yet make such a choice. "Bring her," Jon said softly, before he too turned to follow the path Sansa and the others had walked. Behind him, he heard Arya and Tyrion's footsteps as they began to lead Daenerys down the hall, where they would load her into the boat beside Jorah and take them back to Kings Landing.

And then... And then he had to make a choice. He just wasn't sure he was ready to do it.


	8. Chapter 8

The mornings were the worst.

The constant taste of bile, the constant sea of nausea, the overwhelming sense of being tired, no matter how late she slept. By early afternoon she always felt well enough to move about, to stroll through court as if nothing was amiss, and if it weren't for all the drama with Daenerys her absence might have been noticed. But, for now it seemed that her secret was still yet safe. And truthfully, Sansa knew she couldn't hide it from Jon much longer.

Though he had not come to her bed in days, he still came to her rooms; he still would hold her when he slept, her presence his only sense of comfort these days. He was mad with worry over what to do now that he had both Daenerys and Jorah in his dungeons. There was no one left to side with the mother of dragons, no one left to help her break free again. However, something told Sansa that Jon wouldn't have to worry about her trying to break out ever again. Her mind often returned to that conversation they'd shared that day, one she'd yet to give the details to to anyone, not even to Jon, and she felt a rush of pity for the dragon queen. But, she'd made her bed and now she had to lie upon it, as her mother had always said. Actions always had consequences, Sansa had learned that the hard way... And now, so had Daenerys.

It was late into the morning when Sansa had finally decided to rise up from her bed, feeling a little weary but finally ready to break her fast. Brienne had gone off to bring her something from the kitchens when the steward entered after a soft knock, offering her a little bow. If he noticed her bedhead and robe thrown over her nightgown, he did not mention it. "The King, your grace," he said with another quick bow, before backing from the room.

Sansa had only a moment before the door opened again and Jon entered instead, wearing a small smile, dressed in what had to be the oldest pair of breeches he owned. "They said you were still abed, I see they were not lying," he joked, taking in the sight of her disheveled hair and nightgown. She made a face at him, a chuckle escaping her lips only a moment later as she came to stand before him. Jon slipped his arms around her, nuzzling her neck, feeling the warmth of her hands as they came to rest at the small of his back. One of his own hands was gently tugging through her red locks, relishing in the softness of it against his skin. "I wouldn't mind staying in bed with you all day..." His voice was a whisper, his breath warm against her neck as his lips strayed from her ear down to the exposed crook of her shoulder.

That was when she realized, she had to tell him.

Placing her hands instead upon his shoulders, she pushed him away from her, holding him at arm's length. "Jon, there's something I have to tell you," she admitted softly, turning away when he looked upon her with widened eyes. The worry was evident upon his face and Sansa just couldn't face it.

But the she felt it, the soft touch of his hand against her cheek, the movement forcing her to return her gaze to his. "Tell me, Sansa." His simple words brought a laugh to her lips and she sagged against him, clutching to the front of his shirt as she fought for the words to say. He thought it was going to be so easy, that he could fix whatever was bothering her with a single gesture. But, unbekownst to Jon, there was no remedying this situation. Well, not now at least. Staring into his eyes, she knew, without any doubt at all that she could tell him. She had to tell him. It would be hard, nearly impossible, but she was coming to the point where soon people would begin to notice. It was a miracle Jon himself had yet to notice something strange about his young lover. But... All the same, she was afraid.

What if he wasn't happy? What if this ruined everything he had going for him, this first year of his reign? It was just a month shy of his coronation day and he was not even yet married... To sire a bastard was not unheard of, but what would that do for her? An unmarried woman with a child was not marriage material. And an unmarried queen at that? What would the world think of her then? But... It didn't matter. She'd allowed this to happen, besides Jon was a good man, he wouldn't let her suffer because of this? No, of course he wouldn't. "Sansa..." His voice brought her back and she realized silence had lapsed, as she'd been unable to find the right words to use yet.

She supposed it was best to just get out with it and so she opened her mouth, looking Jon in the eye as the words left her lips. "I'm pregnant." He did not move at first, did not even speak as the words she spoke registered within his mind. In truth, he remained so solemn she wasn't even quite sure that he had heard her. His hands cupped both of her cheeks into his palms, his dark eyes meeting her own blue ones as a single tear slipped free. "Say something, please Jon just say something." She urged him sofly, her hands clinging to the front of his shirt, her pleading eyes seeking his. In truth, she was beginning to worry that he was displeased to hear the words she'd just spoken. And if that was the case... Then what would she do?

But Jon's silence was not from unhappiness, nor even worry... It was just pure surprise that kept him from speaking to her. Besides, there were no words for him to say; what could he say to the woman he loved when she told him she carried his heir in her belly? Nothing seemed to make sense, nothing else really seemed to matter right then, right there. A warm feeling was rushing through him, a feeling he could not equate to anything at all, a feeling so strong it could rival that of the sun and Jon sucked in a breath. "Marry me." He said simply, saying the only words that could ever make sense right then. Sansa gave a startled sort of chuckle but then Jon shook his head, clutching her cheeks a bit tighter. "Marry me, Sansa." He echoed, staring into her eyes as tears threatened to overflow from them, on her lips a trembling little smile.

But then she nodded and just like that, everything began to make sense again.

Jon took her into his arms then, holding her as fiercely as he dared, breathing in her sweet scent while thought after though rushed through his mind. A child... His child, his heir... He could still barely wrap his brain around those words Sansa had just spoken. But above everything else, he knew he had to do what was right for Sansa, as well as their child. And that was to make them legitimate long before they were ever even born. It wasn't just the child that urged him to marry her... Jon knew in his heart that he loved Sansa with every ounce of his being. He would marry he because he loved her.

Taking a single step back, he dropped down to his knees, hands sliding down the length of her body until they fell upon the still yet flat plane of her stomach. "I love you," he whispered as he felt her hands slide into the mess of his hair, her fingers tugging through the tangled locks. "I will protect you," he tipped his head back to look up at her smiling face, her blue eyes bright in her face, and Jon felt his heat beat flutter. How had he become so lucky? Rising back up he took her face into his hands again and kissed her, strong and true, hoping that it spoke every word he was unable to say.

[ x x x ]

When the news broke just two days later that the King of the Seven Kingdoms (though, six now, one had to suppose since the North had become its own kingdom) had selected a bride, the people and nobles alike were ecstatic. Finally, there could be dynasty to follow that the people could be proud of. Finally, there would be stability for all seven kingdoms and the crown itself. Finally, there would be real, lasting peace.

Not a single soul in the court was surprised when that very next day, Sansa appeared at Jon's side at the weekly gathering for townsfolk to speak of their problems with their monarch, an old custom done away with when Joffrey had taken the throne some years ago. The only surprise was when she spoke with the men with as much dignity and wisdom as rulers twice her age, offering advice and encouragement to every man that came before her. The young Queen of the North was quickly proving herself to be quite worthy of the crown she wore and the one she would wear soon enough.

The wedding was happening much sooner than Tyrion would have liked, but he began the arrangements without much fuss. Sansa knew that their time was running out before she would begin to show and the last thing she wanted to do was cause a scandal before she'd even sworn the coronation oath. She could only hope that the court would simply be more excited over an heir to worry about how early the conception seemed to be.

And so it was only a week out from the royal wedding and already noble men and women from every continent seemed to be arriving on their doorstep. Noble man after noble man did she meet and with him came his wife and sometimes even their children. There were so many faces, so many accents, so many names she'd already begun to forget... She supposed she didn't have to remember them all, anyways, as most would be gone a day or so after the wedding. Every evening she went to bed more exhausted than the night before but it was always with a smile upon her face. In truth, she lived for this sort of stuff; the politics of running a court, the smoothing over of various problems and dilemmas. It seemed she enjoyed it much more than Jon did, who welcomed her at his side at all possible times, himself enjoying it when she spoke her mind as she so often did. He supposed he had no better choice in a bride, when it came right down to it; Sansa was smart and well versed in all things politics and court life. She'd lived it, after all. She was charming and intelligent, her wit often causing ever the most somber of men to chuckle. She was everything a queen should be and he was incredibly lucky to have her as his.

"We shall hear from one more man," Jon called out from his place on his throne, Sansa beside him like the ruling queen she'd been born to be. On her right was Tyrion, who often joined them in these meetings with the townsfolk, as he had used to do when his own father had conducted them in the days of King Robert. "Bring him in." The steward opened the door and in came one single man, his clothing worn but clean, his freshly shaved face beaming with a smile as he approached the dais.

"Your grace," he said in turn to both of them, offering a short little bow before them. When he stood upright, his smile had returned and he tilted his head ever so slightly. "It is an honor to stand before you both." He went on, his eyes straying from Jon's to Sansa's for only a moment.

"And do you have a matter to speak on?" Jon asked, shifting upon his throne, wanting nothing more than to stretch his tired legs.

"Indeed. I am here to humbly ask you take my oldest daughter into your court to work." That was when Sansa noticed the young girl there, a girl of only ten or so, looking uncomfortable as she hid behind her father. "I cannot care for her and the other children, not since their mother died." The man's voice shook as he spoke, his eyes full of the anguish he must have felt in that moment. "I cannot offer her what she deserves in this world. She's a good girl, her mother taught her well." The man looked from Jon to Sansa then, his eyes pleading as their gazes me. "Please, your grace, she will be most helpful to you I assure you." This was a man desperate to give his child the care she so rightly deserved. This was a man desperate to protect his children, to save them from starvation and certain death. Though the thought of leaving her there at the palace broke his heart, the girl's father knew it was what was best for her life.

"Come here, child." Sansa spoke softly, raising a hand to gesture at the young girl to come forward. Though she looked as if she'd rather do anything else, the child took a few steps towards the dais. "Closer." Sansa offered her an encouraging smile that seemed to put a little pep in her step and a moment later, the girl was standing right before her. "What is your name?"

"Alys," the girl whispered, glancing back over her shoulder at her father, who's smile must have given a bit of comfort. She returned her gaze back to Sansa's, taking in the sight of her face, surprised at how warm the young queen's stare was. It sort of reminded her of her mother's. But more intimidating still was the young man beside the Northern queen, for Alys knew that this was the King of the Seven Kingdoms, the most powerful man in all of Westeros. Her father wanted for her to come to his palace to serve him as her own mother had once done for the previous ruler, Cersei, but Alys was scared. Unlike her mother who had seemed to be frightened of nothing, Alys was frightened of everything. Especially leaving home.

Sansa looked over the child one more time, thinking about how alone and frightened she had felt back then, when she had lost her own mother. The poor girl had lost her mother at such a crucial point in her young life and Sansa felt the same pain she must have felt. "Of course we shall take her in." Sansa ruled without another thought, giving Jon only one glance, happy to see the smile on his lips. "But she will be housed with my own handmaidens." The man looked up, his eyes full of surprise and so Sansa offered him a small smile. "Return her to us when you are ready." She went on, gesturing for the young girl to return to her father's side, so she may return home and say her proper goodbye's to her siblings.

"Thank you, your grace." The man cried softly as he took Alys back into his arms, his relief evident. "Thank you." He steered her towards the main double doors, pausing for just one moment to cast a glance over his shoulder at the two upon their thrones, but then was gone to prepare his oldest child to leave home. But, he'd secured a future for her that he never could have given her, had he'd kept her at home. Of his four children, Alys had always been his favoite, though he knew it was wrong to have one. He couldn't help it though- with her sweet, soft nature, Alys had always had his heart since the day she was born. And now.. He would finally do right by her.

"That was kind of you," Tyrion spoke first as he came around to stand more in front of the throne rather than beside it. "But what is a child going to do for you as a handmaiden?" The girl was much too young for court life, if one asked Tyrion. It did not matter who sat upon the throne, the court would always be scheming and manipulative, would always have men who would prey upon the innocence of a young girl.

"She will grow, Tyrion." Sansa smiled as she fixed the little man with her piercing blue eyes. "Besides, better she grow here rather than out there where her future is decidedly less fortunate." Truthfully, Sansa felt deeply the need to protect the young girl with no mother, knowing how hard it was to grow up as such without anyone at all to guide her along. At least now, Alys could have a future she'd not had outside the palace. Tyrion supposed he could not argue with such a statement and so he bowed, allowing himself to be dismissed by Jon who was rising up from his throne.

"Come, let us finally eat," Jon said as he offered her his hand, helping her up onto her feet. "That was indeed a kind thing you've done, Sansa," he said as he swept her towards a door behind their thrones, behind that door a private hall that would lead them to his quarters. "It will change her life and hopefully ease the lives of her family with one less mouth to feed." Jon knew Sansa well enough to know the truth behind her taking in the motherless girl, but he'd learned already not to get her worked up in her current state. Her emotions seemed unstable these last few days and Jon had learned the hard way what happened when she got upset. He wasn't about to go down that route again.

"She will be a good girl." Sansa predicted as Jon held the door open for her, allowing her to slip by him, stepping into the presence chamber of his rooms. The dining table had already been set up and the room was ablaze with candlelight. "Oh, Jon..." She murmured as she turned to face him, his grin enough to bring a smile to her own face.

"This is to be our last dinner together before we are married," Jon said by way of explanation, knowing that the next few days would be a blur of preparations. He wanted just one last moment with her as they were. He felt her hand slip into his, giving it a tender squeeze, and Jon leaned in to brush his lips against hers. In only a few days, they would be married, and he knew they would not see much of one another until that moment. Breaking away, he gently tugged her towards the lavish dinner table, pulling out the chair for her to sit in before taking to another chair himself.

And then they shared a dinner that would remain in his memory for all his life. Little moments embedded into his memory that would last a lifetime; her smile, her laugh, her clear blue eyes all imprinted upon his heart. Life simply made sense with her at his side and he could not begin to understand how he'd gotten so lucky. To think, it only a few days she'd be his wife, and soon enough be the mother of his child... It was all more than he could have ever expected out of this life. He fell more in love with her with every passing day and Jon knew he had everything he'd ever wanted.

He was the luckiest man alive.


	9. Chapter 9

Sansa woke the morning of her wedding feeling better than she'd felt in weeks.

For the first time in what felt like forever, she did not wake to nausea nor vomiting. In fact, she woke feeling well rested and craving the sweet, yet crisp taste of a red apple. Sending the first handmaiden through her door off to the kitchens for said apples, Sansa rose up from the bed as a second pair came in, lugging between them the copper tub for her bath. Seating herself at her vanity, it was then that she caught the sight of Alys hanging in the doorway, looking nervous and unsure of what to do. She had only come to live at the palace two days before and from what the others said, she'd cried herself to sleep both nights. "Alys, come here," Sansa called out to the girl, offering her an encouraging smile as the child approached. "Would you brush my hair?" The girl's eyes widened and she hesitantly reached out to take the brush from the Northern queen's hands.

Though she was new and but a child, Alys was beginning to understand court life, and she knew it was an honor to be asked to brush the queen's hair. Coming to stand behind her, Alys began the long, but gentle process of brushing out Sansa's hair, careful to untangle each and every knot so it would be that much easier to wash. By the time she had finished, the other maids had finished filling the tub and so Sansa rose up from the vanity to stand beside the tub. Alys watched as one of the older girls stripped the queen from her nightgown and then she was slipping into the tub, sloshing water over the sides as she climbed inside.

While she soaked in the hot water scented with roses, Sansa broke her fast with the apples that the maid had brought to her from the kitchens, feeling happy rather than nervous as she had thought she'd feel on this day. Another of the maidens was at her side then, ready to wash her hair, a process which would take some time and so Sansa settled back, fully prepared to relax until it was time for her to get out.

By the time the water had begun to grow cool, she was finished. And so a maid brought to her a warm sheet as she climbed out of the tub, wrapping her body in it the moment her feet touched down on the ground. Another smaller sheet was brought for her hair, which was wrapped up in it as well, all to begin the long process of drying her waist length locks. A hand maiden was there then, unwrapping the sheet from around her, and instead helping her into a clean nightgown, which she would remain in until it came time to dress for the wedding.

Across the room, laid out across her bed was the dress she'd wear for the wedding; it was a lovely dress of gold and white, its squared neckline embroidered with pearls. As she took a seat back at her vanity, Sansa reached for the small silver box she kept there, opening it as she looked for something inside it. Finding it with a smile, she removed from the box a pendant on a long chain, the very same one that Jon had given to her the day of her arrival in Westeros. Clasping it around her neck, she allowed the direwolf pendant to hang low, where it'd be safely tucked against her breast, hidden from view but still close to her heart. A reminder of her roots as a Stark, a reminder of who she would always be.

"Your grace, its time."

The hand maiden's voice broke into her thoughts and Sansa turned, realizing then just what the woman meant. More than an hour had passed and it was time to get dressed. Her hair was dry and styled and she'd been draped in jewels and pearls alike; now, all that was left to do was get dressed in that beautiful gown. Giving a little nod, she rose up, coming to stand at the center of her chamber, where three maidens had gathered around her.

When she was finally dressed, all of the maidens in the room stood back to stare at her, their faces full of dreamy smiles as they took in the sight of her. "You look beautiful, my lady." One of them piped up, her eyes full of tears as she looked upon the young queen. In truth, there'd never been a queen they adored as much as they adored this one, and they were all overjoyed that she would be remaining at court as their own queen. At once, several other voices were chiming in, praising her looks and glow as she stood there in her wedding attire. Sansa could not help but to blush and thank them, turning towards the door as it opened and in came a steward with a package in his hands.

"Your grace," he bowed as he extended his hands for her to take the package, which she did, arching her brow in a silent question. "From the King, your grace," he explained before he backed out of the room, closing the door behind himself. From Jon? Just what could he have sent her? Sitting herself down on the edge of her bed, Sansa unwrapped the package, unable to stop herself from gasping as she laid her eyes upon the item inside. From inside, she pulled a beautiful crown that sparkled with gems, its intricate design a true masterpiece. Beneath the crown was a single piece of parchment and so she reached back inside to pull it from the box as well. Unfolding the parchment, she felt tears welling up in her eyes as she read Jon's handwriting scrawled across its surface.

 _Sansa,_

 _Long before I asked you to marry me, I had this made for you. I knew someday you would be my queen and there was no crown I saw fit for your beautiful hair. I have hope that this one will do your loveliness justice._

I love you, my queen, more than anything else in this whole world.

Jon

Folding the piece of parchment back up, she held it close to her chest for a moment, before she slipped it beneath her pillow. And then, she rose up from the bed and turned to the seven handmaidens still inside the room with her, their smiling faces all staring back at her. "Shall we go?" She asked them and her head lady, Lyanna, smiled back at her and nodded.

It was time to get married.

[ x x x ]

Jon had never been more nervous in all of his life.

Fighting to the death in battle? Easy. Dealing with treachery and betrayal? No worries. Swearing his own coronation oath? Not a problem. But this... His own wedding? He couldn't say what left him feeling so nervous, but nervous he was and he could only hope that nobody could tell. Beside him Tyrion was offering him an encouraging smile, the little man looking splendid in his grand clothing. "Nervous, my lord?" Tyrion asked with a chuckle, shaking his head all the same. "You've fought to the death in battle after battle, but a few wedding vows have you shaking in your boots?" Jon shot him a dark look and Tyrion could not help but to give another chuckle. "Never fear, it will all be over soon. And then she can join you in your marriage bed." He winked and Jon felt himself relax a little, his own lips parting with a small laugh.

Then suddenly, the doors were opening and there she stood, like a dream in all white and gold, her smile radiant as the sun. Jon stepped down from the dais, walking down the aisle towards where she stood in the doorway with a cluster of ladies behind her dressed in their very best. He had never seen her more beautiful in truth, so beautiful that it stole the very breath from his lungs. The court had gone silent as they watched their king approach the future queen, as they watched him offer her his elbow and then together they made their way back towards the dais.

And just like that, they were married.

Immediately following the wedding ceremony came her own coronation, where upon her head was placed the crown of state, replacing the one Jon had given to her for only that moment. But when the vows had been spoken and the crowds had cheered her name, she returned his crown to her head, knowing it would always be the one she wore from that moment on. Jon had taken her by the arm and led her from their joint thrones, through the crowd of courtiers, and into the empty hall, where for the first time in what felt like days, they had a moment alone.

"Wife," Jon grinned as he pulled her into his embrace, knocking her new crown askew in his haste to take her into his arms. Sansa was laughing as she reached up her hands to steady her crown, the weight of it still yet strange to her. "I knew it would suit you," he went on as his hands moved upwards to cup her face into his palms. "You are beautiful." He hardly dared to even begin to believe that this moment was real, that she was truly his queen, his wife. And more than that... She was to be the mother of his child. Jon slid his hands down the length of her body, coming to a rest upon her stomach, which to his delight had begun to curve. Her hands fell into place over his and they met eyes, her smile as radiant as the summer sun. "I love you," he leaned in to brush his lips across hers a moment before the double doors opened behind them.

"Your court awaits, your grace." Tyrion said with a smirk as he approached the newly crowned queen, offering her a bow. His eyes strayed to the tangle of hands upon the young woman's abdomen, but he did not speak on it, instead he turned to lead the pair back into the center of the court, where the monarchs would share a first dance before them all. And then it would be time for a feast to rival all feasts before it- Tyrion had made certain of that.

Taking her by the hand, Jon led her out into the center of court, where all eyes had fallen upon them. The music began and they fell into a light step, Sansa graceful as ever as she twirled out and back close to him, her eyes bright as they met his. Despite the room full of people, it felt as if they were alone out there, so lost in one another were they. Jon swore to himself that he would never let her go and as the dance came to an end, his arm slid protectively around her waist. Together then they headed towards the great hall, where a feast of all feasts had been prepared. The room was bright with lavish decorations in white and gold, so beautiful that it took her breath away. "It's lovely," she whispered as Jon led her up to the dais, to the head table where they would sit above the rest of the court, with only a few others at their sides.

"Aye, it is," Jon replied as he pulled her chair out, not letting go of her hand until she was seated completely. Then he sat down beside her and for the first time, they would eat together as husband and wife, as king and queen. And nothing had ever felt better than that.

[ x x x ]

If the court was shocked when their newly crowned queen showed herself with a growing belly less than a month into the marriage, they did not speak of it. At least aloud. Sansa supposed the maids would whisper, the courtiers would gossip, but she could breathe easy knowing there would be no slander. In fact, the people around her seemed overjoyed at the prospect of an heir being born so soon- they called it a blessing. So, she felt no shame when she appeared before them all with her pregnancy on display for all to see, there was no hiding it now, even if she wanted to.

On this particular day, Sansa was more tired than usual and so she had laid in bed much later than she normally would have. Jon had not come to her rooms the night before, busy he was with some trade complications with another nation, and honestly it was enjoyable to be alone for just a night. When she finally did rise from her bed, it was little Alys who greeted her with a wash bin of rose scented water for her to wash her face with, and it was little Alys who had laid out her gown for the day. Though the girl still seemed shy and reserved, it was nice to see her with a smile as she greeted her that morning. It certainly seemed like she was getting along well and her head lady kept her constantly informed of how the child was doing with her duties. And in truth, it was little Alys who Sansa enjoyed having beside her at all times.

"Will you brush my hair today, Alys?" Sansa asked with a smile as she stood up from the bed, one hand cupped lightly around her swollen abdomen. "I prefer your hands, you know." The child blushed to the roots of her hair and smiled, though she looked down at the floor when she did. She nodded, stepping aside to allow Sansa to pass her by, and came to stand behind her when she'd seated herself at the vanity. "Now, tell me how your week has gone."

This had become their usual ritual- any morning that Alys was there, Sansa inquired after her, enjoying the questions and comments the young girl had. She was a bright girl, that Alys was, and when she could overcome her shyness she was an absolute delight. "I made a friend," she admitted as she lifted the brush, beginning the gentle strokes she used to brush her queen's hair. "He works in the stables." Ah, that was right, Sansa recalled hearing Jon say he'd brought on a young man of about thirteen to work the stables, another poverty stricken lad from town.

"Is that so? Do tell me about him." Sansa smiled into the mirror, catching Alys' quick, but timid smile in the reflection. And just like that, the girl was talking; every little detail she could think of was coming from her mouth, her enthusiasm bringing a chuckle from Sansa's lips. "You must introduce me later." Sansa said, her words bringing another smile to Alys' face. The other maidens were entering the room then, her head lady's singsong greeting causing Sansa to laugh. "Good morning ladies." She replied before looking at Alys in the mirror once again. "Shall you style my hair this morning?" She questioned the girl, who's mouth dropped open in surprise at being asked such a thing. "I trust you, Alys," Sansa spoke soft, encouraging words, and finally the child gave a little nod before her hands set to work.

When Sansa had dressed for the day (in a silk gown of the pale green that had already been let out to accommodate her growing belly), her hair was twisted into an elaborate knot, her hair piece a simple, yet elegant golden brooch stamped with pearls. "I knew you could do it well, your small hands are quite nimble." Sansa complimented the child as she bid her goodbye for the time. "Today you shall introduce me to your new friend, alright?" Alys gave an eager little nod before sweeping her queen a curtsy, something her mother had taught her from an early age. "Come ladies, shall we go?" She and the others made their way down to the main court, where they would break their fasts with all the others, for today was the day the King and his men were to go to hunt. Though she knew Jon cared little for the spectacle behind it all, she knew he did it with enthusiasm to please the court. They lived for such things and it reminded them of the good times before Joffrey and Cersei. And so, Jon went back to many of the old ways, at little mind to his own feelings.

When she arrived in the main hall, it was already full of various courtiers, mostly men prepared to go out for the day with their King. "Your grace," Sansa paused, turning to find Tyrion at her side, an arm extended for her to take. With a smile, she took his arm and waved off her ladies, allowing for them to find their seats among their families before such an event. "You are looking lovelier than ever, I must say. A new gown?" Sansa chuckled as they approached the dais, where Jon had already found his place at the head table, his eyes at once seeking hers. "My lord, your wife is looking ravishing this morning, is she not?" Jon smirked and reached a hand out towards Sansa as she came around to sit upon the chair beside him, adjusting her gown as she went.

"Aye, Tyrion, that she is. Pregnancy suits you, my love." He leaned his head in, nuzzling her neck, his lips hovering at her ear. "I have missed your bed these last few nights, wife." Sansa's face did not betray the heat creeping into her neck and face, instead she swiveled her head to look at him, a smile toying with her lips. "Say I may join you tonight."

"You could have joined me any one of the last few nights," she said with a wag of her finger, turning back to the table that had become laden with food courtesy of the kitchen staff. "I am pregnant, not contagious." Tyrion choked on his sip of wine, but spoke not after catching a quick glance from the queen, who's blue eyes were smoldering though her lips were still yet smiling. "You may join me, but for the love of God, bathe first." Tyrion laughed outright at that and then the royal couple were laughing too, so loudly that the court had all turned to see what was so funny.

When breakfast had ended, Sansa bid Jon and his court goodbye, the kiss from Jon warm as always, but as he walked away, something cold settled into the pit of her stomach. Putting a hand against the curve of her belly, she swallowed down the feeling of dread and turned to her ladies, forcing a smile and talking in what sounded like a false voice, even to her. "Come ladies, let us find something to do to amuse ourselves while the men of court find pleasure in the hunt." Though she tried to reassure herself, she could not keep the cold, sinking feeling at bay. A feeling that told her things were about to change.

[ x x x ]

"Murdered?"

Sansa heard Jon's voice echoing the words that had just been spoken to them there in the throne room. Tyrion looked grim, his dark eyes rising to meet his monarch's as he gave a single nod. "I'm afraid so." The man replied, casting his eyes to her for a moment before returning to Jon. "And it seems your brother Bran has vanished into the night." Sansa felt her heart skip a beat and she tightened her grip on the arms of her throne. The murdered party they spoke of was the man she'd left in charge to look after Bran and Winterfell, an old but loyal man of the North.

"Then I must go." Sansa spoke up before either man could speak, blue eyes darting from Tyrion to Jon, her heart beating fast within her chest. The North was left without protection if there was no Stark in Winterfell. It was her duty as queen to return to them, to seek the truth behind Lord Darnley's murder and her brother's disappearance. "I will summon Arya and we shall return to Winterfell at once."

Jon supposed he couldn't be surprised by her words, but he was all the same. "Sansa, you cannot travel in your condition." He spoke as she turned to face him, her blue eyes piercing in her pale white face. Her hand instinctively curled around her growing belly, but the determination did not falter in her gaze. "You must think of your own health, you must think of the babe..."

"There must always be a Stark at Winterfell," Sansa repeated the old words of her father, of her mother, of all the Stark's that came before them. "I am not so far along that I cannot travel, besides... I am queen, you crowned me yourself. It is my duty." She turned her eyes instead onto Tyrion, who bowed beneath her gaze. "You will arrange it, will you not my lord?" The little man looked from his queen to his king, the latter heaving a sigh, knowing there was little sense in trying to argue with her after all. Jon gave a single nod and then Tyrion himself was nodding his assent to her question. "I shall leave as soon as it can be arranged, then." Tyrion was then dismissed, off to do as he was bid by his queen.

"I shall go with you." Jon spoke the moment he'd gone, catching Sansa's attention once more. His queen turned with wide eyes, arching a brow with her silent question. Jon then grinned, reaching out his hand to fondly tug on a lock of her red hair. "You didn't honestly think I'd let you go alone, did you?" Sansa could not help but to smile at his words and she shook her head. "Come, let us begin the arrangements." Rising to his feet, he offered her his hand, and then together they made their way from the throne room and into the side hall, where they were already met with his head steward, who had spoken to Tyrion only moments ago. "Begin packing for a trip to the North," Jon confirmed with the older man, who nodded and bowed, springing into action at once. Turning back to Sansa, he cupped her face into his palms, offering her a smile. "We shall get to the bottom of this, my love. And we shall find Bran, I promise you that."

Fear flickered through her, but she nodded, accepting his words as truth because that was what was easiest. She could only hope that he was right and that Bran would be safe, wherever he was. He'd lived through worse, she supposed in the years leading up to now, so she had to believe that he was well. Something told her she would feel in within her own heart if he was truly in danger. "I will find Arya," she spoke quietly and Jon nodded, releasing her only after he pressed a quick kiss to her mouth. Then they parted, he down the main hall towards their chambers, she down the other towards Arya's rooms, where she would find her sister.

And then they would return home.


	10. Chapter 10

It felt like a thousand years since she'd last been home.

In some ways, Sansa supposed it had been a long time- her wedding alone was three months ago, meaning she'd been away from Winterfell for nearly a year now. She put a hand to her growing belly as they approached the main gate, it's looming walls and peaks bringing her a sense of joy and dread all rolled into one. The gate was opened and inside they went, Jon beside her, Arya and Tyrion behind them, with little Alys tagging along beside Brienne, who was bringing up the rear of the party. The people in the courtyard all began to stand upright, their surprise turning to joy at the sight of their redheaded queen, who raised her hand in greeting. Cheers began to erupt all around, the people both shocked but elated at the sight of their queen back home.

And beside her... They began to fall to their knees in reverence, for they realized just who it was at their queen's side. With her she had brought the King of the remaining Six Kingdoms, the Keeper of the Realm, Aegon Targaryen... No, their own Jon Snow. "Your grace," the nearest man said as Jon slipped from his horse, pausing only a moment to help Sansa down from her own. As he feet touched the ground, despite the heavy cloak she wore, all eyes fell upon the belly she carried with her and now her people knew within her she carried the heir to all Seven Kingdoms. "You honor us with your presence," the man went on, bowing low before both rulers, his dark hair dusted with gray. "My lady," he then turned to Sansa, reaching for her hand, tears flooding his eyes without shame. "Welcome home."

A smile curved on her lips and Sansa drew back her hand a moment later, fixing the man with her steady stare. "Flynn Cassel," Sansa greeted, the man second in command behind Lord Darnley, a man born the second son but now the first since his brother perished several years before, while serving Robert Baratheon. "I thank you for taking care of Winterfell in my absence since Lord Darnley..." She trailed off, eyes darkening as she looked up at the castle that loomed behind them. "I should like to rest... And then we shall discuss all that has happened since I've been away." Flynn gave a single nod before he snapped his fingers and men sprung forward, most leading away their horses to stable while one remained behind to offer to carry the single trunk of belongings brought with the group.

It was not an hour later when both Sansa and Jon found themselves settled comfortably into the bedroom that had once belonged to her own mother and father. "Is is strange?" Jon asked as she sank onto the big bed, cloak thrown across a chair, her gown unlaced and slipping from her shoulders. "To be in this room, like this with me?" He stood before her then, his dark eyes falling upon hers, unable to stifle the lust coursing through his veins. He loved her in moments like this- with her gown half on, her hair loose around her face, a little smile toying with her lips. Dropping onto his hunches, he reached for her then, hands caressing the bulk of her belly, the warmth of her skin radiating through her heavy gown.

"No..." She spoke softly, her own hand running through his soft black hair, head tilting slightly to the side. "It feels right." She admitted, their gazes meeting as Jon raised his face to look up, though his hands remained upon her. The memories of this room ever belonging to anyone else were so dim now... It had been years since this room had belonged to her parents and she'd never once shared this room with Ramsay. A shudder raced through her at the thought of him and Jon must have noticed because he was then moving, coming to sit beside her instead, instinctively putting his arm around her.

Drawing her close, he felt as Sansa dipped her head against his shoulder, their free hands clasped together over her growing belly. "I didn't mean to..." He murmured against the shell of her ear, breathing in her sweet scent, the flutter of their child beneath their palms the only distraction from the past. She shook her head but did not speak on, but rather clutched his hand a little bit tighter, reminding herself that there was nothing left in the world to harm her or the future she and Jon had together. They were safe, winter was over and spring was on its way.

But for some reason, Sansa could not shake the cold sense of dread that had settled into her bones. Safety did not feel like this, safety felt warm. Safety felt the same as when Jon held her in his arms. Safety was not her Lord Commander of Winterfell getting murdered in the dead of night. Something was amiss... And she vowed to find out what it was and put a stop to it.

Before it was too late.

[ x x x ]

 _It was dark, so dark that she could see nothing before her... But then, high above the clouds parted and the moonlight streamed down, guiding her way down the path. She knew where she was, for she had walked this trail many times as a child, but something felt off about it. Something was... Different._

 _She raised her eyes to the sky a moment before the howls began, familiar pitches that reminded her of home. Direwolves, she thought to herself as she walked on, the calls of the animals leading her deeper into the forest. It was then that she began to hear the fast-paced footsteps, could feel the brushing of fur against her as five little wolves dashed past her on the path, no more than pups, their howls echoing each other through the night. She increased her speed, hoping to keep up with the pack, her heart racing hard within her chest as she ran after them._

 _Then, she caught the sound of something else entirely, something she was not expecting to hear. It was laughter, floating alongside the howls of the wolves, laughter from a child that was racing on by her then, dark hair familiar to her for some reason. Sansa slowed to a stop as they reached a clearing where the five direwolves stood, the small child dancing among them as if they too belonged to the pack. It must have been her footsteps that alerted them, for as she too stepped into the clearing all the wolves had their eyes upon her, and then the child was turning towards her too._

 _Surprise took over then as she locked eyes with the small boy, who's piercing blue eyes reflected the moonlight from above. A name was on the tip of her tongue then, but she did not have time to speak the name before the child let out another laugh, his feet steering him towards her instead. As he raced towards her, the direwolves followed after, like he truly was one of them. She opened her arms to him a moment later, a gesture that felt natural, and she felt the warm weight of his body as he lept into her arms..._

And just like that, she woke.

Sitting up in bed, she breathed in and out, steadying her beating heart. Turning her eyes, she caught sight of Jon, fast asleep in the bed beside her. At least she'd not woken him. It was that dream again... The one she'd been having ever since returning to Winterfell two weeks before. Every night the dream was the same, though each night she got a little further along the path... This time, she had seen the child, had felt the direwolves. A strange feeling was creeping into her heart and despite the early hour, Sansa knew she would never return to sleep. Rising up from the bed, she grabbed her cloak from the chair it'd been draped across and wrapped it around herself as she slipped from the room, hoping a simple walk would ease her racing thoughts.

The guards outside her door both turned to her as she went past, though she waved at them as she went, indicating she was fine on her own. Stalking the old corridors of Winterfell, Sansa did not stop until she'd reached the crypt below the place, where her family had all been buried throughout the years. And it was not just her parents and siblings there, it was almost all of the Stark's since the very beginning. Coming to stand before her parents graves, Sansa bowed her head and prayed, asking her father and the Old Gods for any sort of advice, for any sort of sign as to what she was supposed to do now.

And then at that very moment, the crypt door opened and she turned, finding herself face to face with Jon. A smile tugged on her lips and she fell into his open arms, face buried in his chest for several long moments. But then she was pulling back, looking up into his face as within her belly she felt their child's movements, more strong and true than they had ever been. She had asked the Gods for a sign and they had delivered. Sansa knew what she had to do... And that was find the person that had murdered Darnley and then find Bran. And more than anything else, she would love the life she and Jon had created together and protect them from harm. She would be a good mother and a good queen, because that was her duty. And truthfully, there was nothing else more she wanted in this world.

"All good, sweetheart?" Jon asked softly, tenderly stroking the length of her hair, knowing this was not the first time she'd woken far earlier than anyone else. He worried for her, especially for her health considering her condition. But Sansa gave his hand a gentle squeeze and her smile was bright as she looked up at him with a little nod, drawing his other hand to her belly. There, beneath his palm, he could feel the strong movements of their child and at once he was grinning, excitement replacing all other thoughts and feelings of the moment. "Strong." He commented, moving his hand across her stomach, trying to capture that feeling again, but it seemed that their child had finally calmed.

For a moment, Sansa considering telling Jon about the dream she'd been having, but decided against it when their child began to move. That alone took precedent over everything else around them, this first time they felt the true movements of their child. Instead, she decided she might tell him later, perhaps if she had it again. Besides, she could already hear him using her pregnancy to excuse the dreams, citing the strange dreams she'd been having during the weeks before knowing she was pregnant as evidence. And so instead, she allowed Jon to lead her back towards the stairs, where they would return to their chambers and perhaps remain abed a whole lot longer than necessary.

[ x x x ]

"I find it hard to believe that no one saw anything at all."

The men in the room exchanged looks among one another before all eyes returned to their Queen, who in her severe black dress and fur wrappings looked very much the part of Northern Queen. Her long red hair was a sharp contrast to the black of her garb, its length freely flowing down her back, though a braid was woven in at the crown of her head. "My apologies, my queen, but it happened in the dead of night, on the single evening of the week that his wife was away visiting a sick sister just outside the village." Flynn was the first to speak up, coming to stand before the table where Sansa and Jon sat. The King had yet to speak out of respect for his wife's duty to her people, to her title, and so he would remain quiet unless spoken directly to. "There was nothing taken from the house, but..." He trailed off, glancing towards another man, the look on his face one full of uncertainty.

Realizing he struggled to speak the truth, Sansa sighed, hands spread out across the flat plane of the table. "Speak, Lord Cassel, there are no judgments here." Sansa encouraged, softening her tone, knowing her frustrations would only hinder matters. There was no sense in being angry with her lords, especially when she knew them to be suffering the loss of both their friend and comrade, but as well as the fear of potentially being next. "Speak if there is something else you would like to say. Any of you."

There was something else he wanted to say, but they had agreed upon sparing their queen such graphic details, besides, they still could not say for certain what they saw was true. "My lady, Lord Darnley was murdered but we could find no sign of injury nor poison." Flynn finally spoke, ignoring the looks shot to him by the others as if they'd not wished for him to say such words.

"Then how do you know he was murdered and not that he simply died of natural causes?" It was Jon who spoke this time, leaning forwards, his fingers pressed together as he looked out across the men gathered before them. "What leads 'ye to believe the man was murdered?" He was much reminded of his days as Lord Commander, when meetings like these were held almost every single day. Sansa glanced his way, having wondered the very same thing, but then swiveled her gaze back to Flynn and the other men.

"Sire, it was the look upon Darnley's face," Flynn admitted after several long moments of silence. "He looked as if he'd died looking into the eyes of true evil, so afraid did he look." They all had seen him and they could all recall the fear frozen onto Darnley's face, a look that would not soon be forgotten by any man that bore witness to it. "And when we had a maester inspect his body, he could find no trace of injury anywhere. It's as if he died of fright." Neither of his sovereigns spoke, though Sansa leaned back in her chair, hands folded across the curve of her pregnant belly. "I know it sounds strange, unbelievable even, but I swear to you it is what we saw-"

"Easy, Flynn." Jon interrupted, holding up a hand to silence the man. "You forget all the _unbelievable_ things your queen and I have seen along the years." A quick smile took root on Sansa's face though it faded as Jon spoke on. "I think more investigation must be done, and more than anything I'd like to focus on the queen's missing brother." He spared each man within the room a glance, seeing each of their silent nods, knowing these men were frightened of what they'd found in Darnley's corpse. And that in itself frightened him. "Please continue on in your search for answers and speak to us the moment something is found." Something about being back in Winterfell was leaving him anxious and he was more than ready to get Sansa back to King's Landing where she could be safe.

"Yes, your grace," Flynn mumured, offering the royal couple a bow, along with his five comrades. And then they filed from the room, leaving Jon and Sansa alone aside from Brienne who continued to stand guard outside the door. For several moments neither of them spoke, though Jon kept his eyes upon her, watching as she mulled over the conversation they'd just had with the Lords. It was true what he'd said- they _had_ seen many unbelievable things over the years, so this mystery of Lord Darnely's death wouldn't shock them as they might have thought. Dead without a trace of injury or poison? Hell, he'd been killed and brought back to life! He'd fought alongside dragons and against the undead. Nothing could surprise him anymore.

"Sansa."

The voice at the door caught both of their attention and they turned to face Arya, who was frowning as she approached them at the table. "Arya, what is it?" Sansa asked, facing her little sister who though small in stature was anything but little any longer. Sometimes it was still yet hard to look upon her and not see that little kid she had once been.

"I would like to go out and look for Bran myself." Arya spoke simply, her dark eyes never once straying from the piercing blue of her sister's. "It should be me." Sansa did not respond at once, though the young woman could see the answer written plainly about her face. The last of the Stark siblings had to stay together, that much Arya knew, and they were not the Stark's if they did not have Bran.

"You may go, Arya... On one condition." Sansa finally responded, giving her sister a small smile before she leaned forwards, red hair slipping across her shoulders as she moved. "I ask you to search the woods for direwolves." Silence descended and Jon cleared his throat, silencing himself when Sansa shot him a look. "I know what is said, that they have died out now, the last of them our very own that father found for us as pups... But trust me... Something tells me we have not seen the last of our family icon." Arya gave a small nod, her silence speaking volumes about the trust she felt for her older sister, and when she had gone Sansa felt the touch of Jon's hand to her arm. "I know it sounds crazy but you shall see." Jon grinned back at her and nodded as well, rising up from his chair to offer her his hand. Once on her feet, Sansa allowed Jon to steer her towards the back door, one which would lead through a secret hall towards their own chambers. "But Jon-"

"But nothing, sweetheart. You have been on your feet for days now, it is time you rest."

Though she opened her mouth to argue, Sansa quieted herself and instead she allowed him to lead her along to their chambers. He called for their dinner to be brought to them there and for that one evening, they could forget about all of the problems of Winterfell, and instead could just be together. For one evening, they were not royals, but a couple happily expecting their first child.

For one evening, they could be worry free.

[ x x x ]

"You were right."

Sansa looked up from the book she'd been reading only to find Arya there in her doorway. Her heart skipped a beat and she closed the book, not bothering to mark where she'd left off. "You mean...?" She spoke, leaning forwards in her chair, red hair falling across her shoulders as she moved.

"Yes... I found Nymeria." Arya replied as she stepped into the room, closing the door behind her. "She looks to be pregnant." The younger Stark sister went on, coming to sit on the edge of Sansa's bed, keeping her eyes locked upon Sansa's. "I didn't think there would be a male direwolf out there for her to really mate with." She mused, shaking her head, still delighted deep down that she'd yet again run into the wolf she'd once called her own. "When I had last saw her she was with a pack of normal wolves."

"Perhaps they will be half-breeds." Sansa spoke her thoughts aloud, setting aside her book to rise up to her feet. Hands pressed to her lower back, she sucked in a breath, well aware of how uncomfortable she was in these final few weeks of pregnancy. "I'm fine." She spoke then, catching sight of the worry etched onto her sister's features. "Did she look to be close to her time?" Sansa redirected the conversation back to the direwolf and though Arya didn't look entirely convinced, she took the bait all the same.

"Aye, perhaps a few weeks out."

"Strange timing..." She murmured with a sigh, giving her head a quick little shake, stepping towards the window across the room. Out in the courtyard she could see Jon, a semi-circle of men gathered around him, perhaps the men sent out to scout for Bran. A sudden chill raced down her spine and Sansa could not help but to wrap her arms around herself, wondering why that old feeling of fear was creeping back into her heart. Arya was suddenly there beside her, offering warmth and reminding Sansa that things were well, despite Bran's disappearance, all was still yet well.

They would find Bran and things would be right again.


	11. Chapter 11

_It was dark, so very dark that she could not even see her own hand in front of her face. It was so dark, the moon offering her just a little light as her guide. A shiver raced down her spine as she took off down the path, eyes trained upon the moonbeam that shined against the forest floor. And then... From somewhere nearby, a howl pierced the night, a lonely call from a wolf separated from its pack._

 _Slowing her pace, she came to a stop a moment before she heard the steady howl from at least five more wolves, the pack calling back to their lone member. And then, there it was, a single direwolf, its fur as white as the winter snow, its dark eyes looking to her as if to say "come along..." Heart pounding within her chest, she began to walk again, following after the direwolf. It brought her to a clearing, where the moon hung high and clear overhead, so very bright there it was more like daylight. And there in the center of the clearing stood a small child, who's dark hair fell in curls that were familiar to her. Around the boy, five direwolves sat back on their hunches, heads tilted back, mouths open as a howl echoed along the trees. It was then that the child raised his face to hers, piercing blue eyes finding her own of the very same shade... "You..." She reached out a hand towards the child, who's lips then curved into a smile as bright as the moonlight above, while the wolves all turned their dark hued eyes to her too. The white wolf howled back at its pack and the little boy let out a laugh, the sound carrying along the breeze, making her wonder if he had understood the wolves cry._

 _And then as the boy began to run towards her, so did the wolves. It was a moment later that she was opening her arms to him, the brush of fur against her skin was that of the white direwolf. Laughter bubbled from her lips, the child's too, and she realized that in that moment, her heart had never felt so very full..._

This time when Sansa woke, Jon woke too.

Panting there on her side of the bed, with her disheveled braid hanging across her shoulder, face pale in the candlelight, Sansa looked a mess. "Sansa... A dream, sweetheart?" Jon spoke softly, coaxing her from her own thoughts with the gentle touch of his hand to her cheek. "A nightmare?" He went on, his free hand sliding into place across the swell of her belly, where beneath his palm their child was moving. This was not the first night she'd woken so suddenly in the middle of the night, though many nights she'd merely returned right back to sleep. Jon knew her pregnancy was coming close to its end and with everything happening around them, he had to wonder if it was all stress related.

"Not a nightmare," Sansa said a moment later, turning to face him with a small smile, her hand sliding into place over his. She too could feel their child's movements within her, though this night they felt a bit more sharp. In that moment, she realized she'd even yet to tell Jon of these dreams she'd been having... She had written it off before, thinking that he would not believe her, that he would call it a pregnancy trick of the mind. But for her... She just knew they meant something. Something so much more than mere dreams caused by her body's change with pregnancy. And so for a moment, she still yet hesitated but looking into Jon's eyes she knew she could tell him anything. "I've been dreaming of direwolves..." Sansa watched his expression change from that of near wakefulness to surprise, his dark brow arching at her words. "And a child."

His expression lightened then and he smiled, reaching out his free hand to gently tug on a stray strand of her hair. "Is that why you sent Arya to look for them?" Sansa gave a silent nod, turning away from him with burning cheeks. "You knew they were out there." He went on, this time his words causing her to look up with slightly widened eyes. But then she nodded again, blue eyes finding his in the darkness of their chamber. "And this child?"

"Looks just like you."

This time her words brought a smile to both of their faces and Jon felt her tighten her grip on his hand, still placed across her stomach. Truthfully, there was a part of him hoping their first child would be a girl; a little girl as beautiful as her mother. But, he supposed a son was just as good, a son who would be strong and true, raised to protect the innocent and serve his family first. Daughters would could always follow. "Indeed?" He questioned as he traced the outline of her face with his fingertips, dipping his forehead down to meet hers. "I should hope any child of ours would be graced with your good looks."

Sansa drew back from him then, giving a solid shake of her head. "No, we shall have a son and he shall look just like you." She pulled a face then, giving him a quick but soft punch to the shoulder. "Besides you are better looking than I, Jon."

It was Jon's turn to draw back in shock, genuinely surprised by the words she'd just spoke. "Sweetheart, there is no one on this earth more beautiful than you. Surely... Surely you know this? Have I not told you enough?" Sansa's laugh told him that she did not believe him and Jon took both of her cheeks into his palms, staring into her eyes which had widened ever so slightly by his sudden movements. "I do not jest." He spoke simply, thumb tracing the outline of her lips, unable to help but to kiss her. "There is not now nor will there ever be anyone more beautiful than you." A smile was curving on her lips when he drew away from her, his dark eyes gleaming in the dark. "Now, you must get back to sleep. You need your rest." He leaned over her then, pressing a soft kiss against her belly, hands on her either side. "Sleep, sweetheart," he encouraged her quietly, coaxing her back against her pillows.

For a little while after Sansa had gone back to sleep Jon lay there, unable to stop himself from thinking of what she had said. And Arya, too. Nymeria had been found in the forest, pregnant, just as Sansa had said she would be. Jon could not help but to wonder... What else would Sansa be right about?

[ x x x ]

When the morning call came the next morning, it was all she could do to force herself from beneath the blankets. Jon had long since untangled himself from their bed, though Ghost had made himself quite comfortable in his place. She lay awake in bed far longer than appropriate and it wasn't until Brienne came for her that she finally pushed herself from the bed.

"You do not seem well, this morning." Brienne spoke bluntly, looking at her lady from across the room, noting her pale face. "Perhaps you would allow for me to call for a midwife... It is drawing quite close for you, my lady." Sansa looked up at her with those piercing eyes and gave a single shake of her head. "But, my lady..."

"I am fine, Brienne. Call Alys, if you will, I should like for her to dress me." The small child was the only person she might see this day, the only person who would not look at her as if they knew best. She could not yet rest, she could not yet have this baby. Not when Lord Darnley's murder was no closer to being solved than when she'd first arrived. Not when others had begun to turn up dead. And not when Bran was still yet missing. But a sharp twist in her belly told her that she was on borrowed time. It wouldn't be long now, Sansa knew, and she put a hand against her swollen stomach and prayed... Prayed for just a little more time.

"My lady," a small voice pulled her back and there was Alys, with a wide smile and a bobbing curtsy, already dressed for the day. "Brienne said you sent for me." She could see that something was troubling her queen, but fear kept her from asking of it. Instead, she gave a nod when the queen asked if she might help her dress for the day, surprised that she was given such an honor. Though she often did Sansa's hair, she had never yet been asked to assist her in dressing. "Which gown would you like to wear?" She asked as she came closer, moving again when Sansa indicated for her to open one closer to the bed. Tipping back its lid, Alys could not help but to be in awe of the few dresses within; her queen was always well dressed and beautiful... and in truth, Alys hoped she might grow to be as lovely and fashionable as her.

Noticing the young girl's interest in her gowns, Sansa chuckled, coming to stand beside her over the trunk. "Do you like them? These are the ones I've made myself." Alys turned her wide eyes onto her then, brows arched so far they'd disappeared beneath her hair. "It is true, I don't sew as much as I did before... But I do love dressmaking." The little girl turned away then, reaching out to gingerly touch the top one, its detail as lovely as any of her court made dresses. "My mother taught me," Sansa went on then, gesturing for Alys to pull that top dress from the chest. "Perhaps you would like for me to teach you." The gown slipped from her hands then, so shocked was she by the queen's offer and it was all she could do to stammer over a thank you, causing Sansa to laugh. "I thought you might," she smiled down at her, reaching out to pat her on the head. "We shall start another day... Today I must attend the Northern Lords and hope they bring me news of my brother."

[ x x x ]

A short while later, Sansa found herself standing alone in the Great Hall; the Northern Lords had all been dismissed, for they had brought her nothing helpful this day. She felt restless and irritable, wringing her hands as she paced back and forth, footsteps echoing against the stone floor. From somewhere in the distance, she suddenly heard it, the lone cry of a direwolf. She snapped to attention, head swiveling towards the window, her first instinct to run out into the courtyard. The howl of the wolf sent chills down her spine and she took one single step towards the door, as if she truly meant to go.

"My lady?" She paused at the sound of Brienne's voice, who had come to look for her when she'd not returned to her chambers as she usually did after meetings with the Lords. "My lady, are you alright?" Brienne noted her queen's pale, worried face, knowing that the young woman was overworking herself. Mere days from birth and there she was, still yet leading meetings with her Lords and chasing the ghosts within Winterfell. In truth, it looked as if Sansa had seen a ghost, so pale had she become, trembling there where she stood. "Sansa." Brienne spoke sharply, the use of the queen's given name bringing her back from wherever her mind had been, her piercing blue eyes widening. "Please, allow me to escort you back to your chambers."

Sansa let out a breath before she gave a single nod, suddenly wishing for nothing more than to climb into her bed and remain there forever. It was as she took the first step towards Brienne that the baby within her turned and suddenly there was a rush of liquid from between her legs, catching her off guard. For a long moment she could do nothing but look from the puddle at her feet and back to Brienne, but then she felt it... A sharp, white hot pain that took her very breath away. Gasping, she leaned over, cradling her stomach as the wave of pain began to ebb away. Brienne was at her side at once, speaking softly as she put her hand to her elbow, guiding her out of the Great Hall, stopping only once to speak to a passing maid of what was transpiring. And then as promised, she led her back to her chambers, where a few of her ladies had already gathered, there to dress her for the evening meal. "The queen is in labor." Brienne spoke urgently, passing Sansa off to the nearest woman, knowing quite well that she would be in good hands there. But as she made to step away, Sansa was reaching for her, blue eyes pleading.

"Don't go." She whispered, fear written all over her face. Brienne knew her duty to this young woman and would remain at her side, no matter the danger, no matter the request. And so it was Brienne who ushered her into her bed when she'd been changed, her red hair twisted back to keep it away from her face.

In truth, Sansa was terrified; for the first time in a long time, she wished for her mother to be alive. In a moment such as this, the birth of her first child, it should have been her mother at her side. But as her eyes settled upon Brienne's face, she knew she had something nearly as good. Reaching out, Sansa took her protector's hand and gave it a squeeze, the moment of affection between them broken only when another labor pain took control. When it had passed, Sansa looked across the room, her eyes finding little Alys, looking a little shook up in the corner. Beckoning the girl forward, Sansa smiled upon her, extending a hand for the small girl to take. "Alys, will you go to the King... Will you tell him what is happening?" Fear jumped into her throat, but if this was for her... For her queen, then Alys knew she would be brave. She gave a single, but steady nod, and Sansa was smiling upon her then, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. "I'm trusting you."

And then she was off, rushing past the ladies within the room, darting down a corridor and around a corner, nearly knocking over a servant as she went. Right to the King's own chambers did she go, fear rushing through her; though she knew the King to be kind and just, she could not help but to be fearful of him. As she approached the door, the guards out front regarded her carefully, as if surprised to see a girl such as herself there at his door. "I must speak to the King. It's urgent." She spoke in a voice she did not recognize, knowing nothing beyond her mission. The queen was trusting her with such a task and she would not fail her! "It concerns the queen!" At such an exclamation, the guards finally gave in, and one stepped into the room to announce her arrival. He gestured for her to follow after him and so Alys went in, suddenly finding herself at the center of the King's privy chamber.

"Hello there," Jon could not help but to grin at the little girl standing there, looking as frightened as she had the first day they'd met many months ago, back in King's Landing. "I've been told you bring me urgent news." Sansa spoke often of this young girl and Jon knew she favored her more than even her most loyal of ladies. Aside from Brienne, she had been the only companion that Sansa had brought with her from King's Landing, a true telling of the affection she felt for the girl. "So speak." He spoke gently, his lips still smiling as he waited for the girl's words.

"T-the queen... She's in labor, sir!" Alys finally spit the words out, pushing every fear from her heart and mind, her only focus that of her task to the queen. She watched as the King's mouth opened and then closed wordlessly, his dark eyes widening as the realization hit him. And then in that moment, Alys got to witness this King step free from the crown and revert to a mere mortal man who was about to become a father. If she were a little older, she might have found amusement in the young and powerful King looking so worried.

"Labor?" He echoed, feeling his heart skip a beat within his chest. "Labor?" He said again, as if repeating it over and over might have made him feel better. It didn't. Jon knew he should have been running to her side but he found his fight were quite firmly planted on the ground, his knees shaking beneath his weight. Labor... Sansa was in labor. Any moment now and there would be a child born... Their child. He simply couldn't wrap his head around it.

To his surprise, the little girl gave a laugh, a sweet sound that brought him back to reality. "She will be fine, your grace." Suddenly, she felt no more fear of this man. "I helped my mama birth all my brothers and sisters, you know." There had never been a problem with any of the births, no reason to fear the natural process that was giving birth. Her own mother had died from a fever after birth but even so, Alys felt no fear for the queen's life. She was young and healthy, both things her own mother had not been back then when Ned had been born. "I think she'll be upset if you're late, your grace." She went on then, giggling when the King suddenly jumped back into life, giving her a nod before he rushed from the rooms, past his guards without so much as a backwards glance.

Jon did not stop running until he reached her chambers, where her usual guard had been replaced by Arya. He slowed to a stop before her, his dark eyes finding hers. "They won't like you in there, you know." Jon arched a brow and Arya chuckled, shaking her head. "No men allowed in the birthing room. Don't you know anything, my lord?" Her playful banter put him at ease and Jon let out the breath he'd been holding. "Don't let Agnes frighten you." They shared a laugh over stony-faced Agnes, the woman who had been head lady to many Stark women before Sansa, who spoke of nothing beyond propriety and the old times. "Take care of her." Arya's voice was different then and they met eyes, Jon's lips curving in the smallest of smiles. He knew how much Sansa meant to her... Probably as much as she meant to him, though in an entirely different way.

"I will," he gave his word and that was when Arya stepped aside, allowing him entry to Sansa's chambers. Inside, he found it to be chaotic, but the women all seemed to know exactly what was happening. The door to Sansa's bed chamber was pulled closed, but from behind it he could hear her voice, strained with whatever pain she must have been feeling in that moment.

"Your grace!"

The first lady had noticed him, a nameless maid that Jon turned to face. She looked highly uncomfortable, as if she knew it was up to her to tell him what Arya had told him just moments before, but it seemed that she could not find her voice. How did one tell the King of the Seven Kingdoms what to do, anyways? "My lord," this voice was not so uncertain. It was Agnes who stood there in the doorway to Sansa's chambers, looking grim and fixing him with her dark-eyed gaze. "The birthing chamber is no place for a man, King or not." Jon turned to face her, straining over her shoulder to catch a glimpse of his beloved wife. It took him no time to decide what to do next and so it was just a moment later that he was shouldering past Agnes, forcing his way to Sansa's bedside without a backwards glance.

"Jon!" Sansa gasped as he came to her side, his hands taking hers as she reached for him. "You're here," she whispered as the contraction paid subsided, leaving her somewhat breathless as she gripped her husband's hands. On her either side, Jon to one, Brienne to the other, were people that loved her, people that protected her... Now, she was safe. "It's happening," she offered him one quick smile before the pain took control once more, forcing her head back as she rocked in time with the wave.

Unsure what to do, Jon could only sit beside her, allowing her to grip his hands as tightly as she needed. Watching her suffer through child birth was harder than he had thought- how had he not mentally prepared himself for this? And though this was her first child, it was as if Sansa already knew exactly what to do. The midwife at the foot of her bed was smiling then, praising her for making it this far. "It's time, my lady. Push!" The midwife cried as Sansa bore down, her fierce blue eyes closed as a pained cry escaped her trembling lips. "Again!" The midwife shouted seconds later and again Sansa pushed, every muscle in her body straining with her.

She felt as if she were coming apart at the seams.

Pain engulfed her like she'd never before experienced, white hot and angry it rushed through every inch of her. She could hear the midwife shouting for her to continue, could hear Jon's whispered words of encouragement against her ear, but all of her focus was on her one single task. Sansa could feel it then, the feeling of the child begin slipping free from her own body and into the world. It took one last, hard push and she felt it come free, and only seconds later did the newborn begin to wail. "A boy! A prince, my lady!" The midwife cried as she held the newborn aloft, his wails turning to angry screams for being pulled so unfairly from his comfortable home. Beside her, Jon sagged, his arm coming around her shoulders to draw her close. She could feel the press of his lips to her head as he murmured his thanks, as he spoke of his love for her. Sansa sank back against the pillows then, suddenly tired beyond her imagination, though she could not stop herself from smiling.

And then... The midwife was laying the precious newborn into her arms, backing away from the little family, urging all others in the room to follow suit. Jon shifted himself onto the bed, leaning over his wife to peer into the child's perfect features, ones he could already recognize as his very own. The baby's head was covered in soft, downy dark hair, curls that reminded him of the brother's he had lost in Robb and Rickon. And it was then that the child's eyes fluttered, eyes that struck him with their brilliant blue coloring. Their son looked of him, it was true, but those beautiful blue eyes were hers. "He's perfect," Sansa whispered, her voice drawing his gaze towards her face, taking in the sight of her own blue eyes full of unshed tears. "He's absolutely perfect, isn't he?" She turned to look at him then, her smile radiant as their eyes met. Jon could not find the words to speak, choking on emotion, and so all he could do was nod before reaching for her, pulling her close. She shifted into place against him, with him against the pillows, her head resting against his shoulder. Their baby, now quiet, seemed content to snuggle deep into the blanket he'd been wrapped in, safe and warm in his mother's arms.

For how long they remained there, Jon couldn't say. He'd have stayed in that very moment for a lifetime, if he could. In all his life, he had never thought he'd come this far. He never had thought he'd find true happiness with a woman he loved, let alone get married and have a child with her. He had never thought he'd find himself crowned King of anything and yet, there he was. Jon pressed a kiss against her temple and tightened his grip on her just slightly, knowing without a doubt he was the luckiest man in the entire world.

And the happiest.


End file.
